


The Music Man

by vivilove



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music Store, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort Sex, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon and the Starks Are Not Related, Loss of Parent(s), Mentions of Cancer, Past Abusive Relationship (mentioned), Past suicide attempt (mentioned), Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-10-30 13:05:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 49,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10877388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: Rhaegar Targaryen owns a small music shop and has hired a college student, Sansa Stark, to help him part-time.  After learning he is very ill, he calls his estranged son, Jon, to come and help with the shop.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've not written many fics where Jon has much of a relationship with his father so wanted to try this out. I really don't need to start any more multi-chapter fics right now but this one wouldn't leave me alone.
> 
> This was part of my Career Day Romance Series but I've decided it does not fit the spirit of that series.

_‘A quiet man of music denied a simpler fate,_

_He tried to be a solider once but his music wouldn’t wait’_

_'Leader of the Band'-_ Dan Fogelberg

 

“Good morning, Sansa,” the older man called out from his place at the counter. His hair had turned to silver though Sansa imagined that it has once been a pale blonde.

“Good morning, Mr. Targaryen,” she replied. “Oh, please don’t get up, sir,” she exclaimed next.

“I can still stand on my own two feet, child,” Rhaegar said warmly. “Now, what can I do for you? I’ve not received any new sheet music since yesterday, you know.”

Sansa blushed a lovely pink and said, “I know. I just like to come and look but my copy of ‘Jenny of Oldstones’ is quite covered with notations and I could use some more blank paper for…something I’m working on.”

“Of course. I could help you find…”

“Oh, don’t worry! I know just where everything is.”

“That, you do,” he chuckled.

He regarded the young lady thumbing through the sheet music for a moment. Sansa Stark was a lovely girl who adored music as much as he did. She was a music student at the university and the piano was her instrument but she had a passion for all music. He wondered if her voice lifted in song would be as fair as her face. The older man smiled to remember the way she had pled for him to play his harp once for her. It had not been a trial to indulge the girl. His fingers still longed to pluck and play all day though his eyes had grown dimmer and he mostly played from memory now.

Sansa was like a breath of spring whenever she walked into the musty, old shop. Her flaming red hair and bright blue eyes stood out in the drab browns and tans of the old paint and older carpet.

Sansa carried her selections to the register and laid them on the counter. Mr. Targaryen had the strangest eyes, a deep indigo, but they were friendly all the same. Today though there was something in them that concerned her, a shadow of pain and unease. He was not so very old, not much older than her own father but his war wounds caused him much grief and he moved like a much older man.

“You know, Sansa…if you ever needed a part-time job, I could certainly use a knowledgeable and amiable young person such as yourself to help out around here.”

“Truly, Mr. Targaryen? That would be wonderful,” she replied and they fell into a discussion of the position.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hello,” Jon croaked into the phone. He rolled over and looked at the time. It was nearly noon but he’d only been in bed for a few hours. The set had run long. The band had wanted to party and Jon had been swept along for the night.

“Son.”

Jon choked back the groan that voice usually produced. “Yes, Father,” he replied stiffly. He received silence in return. No words. The words between them had always been few and halting…at least when they weren’t shouting at one another. He knew his father had tried but it had never been enough, it seemed to Jon. “Did you need something?” Jon asked at last when he was tired of waiting for Rhaegar to say something, to say anything at all.

“I do.” A long and pregnant pause. “I’m dying.” Jon wanted to say the right thing. He wanted to say that he was sorry or offer his help, useless though it was. He wanted to ask who, what, how, when and why. Before Jon could utter any expressions of grief or condolence or curiosity even, his father spoke again. “I wanted to see if you’d come and help with my shop for a little while.”

Jon covered his eyes. His father was dying and they’d likely never repair their relationship or lack of in that time and this was what he was asking. Jon didn’t want to help with the shop. He had a good thing going. He was a studio musician and writing some music, too. Several acts had asked him to record with them. He was being invited to guest at shows. Jon Targaryen was finally seeing some doors open up for him in the business instead of seeing them slammed in his face.

“How long?” he asked and wished the lump in his throat would go away.

“How long do I have left or how long do I want your help?”

“Dad…” He rarely called him that. They had never been all that close. _That’s not true. You were close when you were just a child…before the divorce_. Since Jon’s mother had passed, they’d spoken very little.

“Six months for me. Maybe more, maybe less. Cancer, in case you’re curious at all.”

“I am. I just…”

“Three months for the shop. I need to tie up some loose ends and see if I can find someone willing to…well, maybe take it over or something.” The shop was…well, it was amazing it hadn’t gone under yet. _It will once he’s gone_ , Jon thought and then chastised himself for thinking such a thing. “Will you come, son?”

Jon sighed and said, “Yeah, Dad...I’ll come and help.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Good morning!” she called brightly as she rose from the piano where she’d been playing softly when he entered. “May I help you?”

Jon stood transfixed staring…like an idiot. His father had said a college girl was working for him part-time. He’d said she was a music student and quite gifted. He hadn’t said anything about the way she looked. _He really could’ve prepared me a bit_.

“I’m looking for my father,” he said.

She was beautiful. Jon saw lots of beauties in the music industry but not quite like her. She’d been singing softly and playing the piano and she’d not heard him enter. And he had stood and watched and listened far too long. He would’ve watched and listened longer were it not for all the dust. His nose had started to tickle and twitch and before he could stop it, an enormous sneeze escaped. She’d been startled for just a moment but then spoke.

“Are you Jon?” she asked with an even sunnier smile now.

“I am,” he said, offering her his hand. “Jon Targaryen.”

“I’m Sansa Stark. I work here part-time.”

“Yeah, my father mentioned that he’d hired some help.”

“He’s in the back. Shall I go fetch him?”

“No, that’s fine. I know the way,” he replied right before another sneeze hit.

“Bless you,” she said with eyes that sparkled in the dim and dusty shop.

“Thank you,” he replied with a smile. 

Jon strolled towards the backroom of his father’s music shop. He was sitting at his work table hunched over a clarinet. He looked the same at first as he had when Jon had last seen him ten months earlier…until he turned and faced him.

“Hand me that cloth,” he said by way of greeting his only child. Jon passed the soft cloth and watched his father lovingly rub down the instrument. “You met Sansa?”

“I did. She’s…um…”

“A knockout?” his father chuckled. He didn’t wait for Jon’s nod before continuing. “She’s also very bright, talented and sweet. So, don’t be running her off. The place needs her.”

“How long has she been here?”

“Three months.”

“How long have you known?”

“Three months.”

“And you decided to call me two days ago because…”

“I thought it was time to tell you.”

“Well, isn’t that grand,” he said sourly.

“You always were such a moody little fuck, Jon.”

“Terrific. You know what? Have a nice rest of your life!”

“Jon…” his father said before he could escape the back room and the shop and his father’s illness. “I’m dying. I’ve had to come to terms with it. No one wants to die at fifty-two, alright? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I’ve never expressed myself well with words. You know that.” Jon looked sullenly away not wanting to face the disease staring him straight in the face. It was oozing from every pore of his old man, it seemed. “I thought we’d have more time. More time for me to make things up to you. To earn your forgiveness.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. You didn’t mistreat me. You didn’t mistreat Mom. You tried.”

“Not as hard as I should have perhaps.” His father stood up from his chair and stretched with a groan. His wounds had always pained him but he never liked to talk about them. Just like he probably would never talk about his cancer. He walked over and put his hand on Jon’s shoulder, the most intimate moment they’d shared since Jon was in high school. “Thank you for coming. It means…it means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome,” Jon said uneasily.

They fell into a discussion about a damaged trumpet and then music in general, the only thing they seemed to share. It was their passion so Jon supposed if they were going to share just the one thing, it may as well be something they were both passionate about. They discussed the shop and the things his father needed help with at home, the doctor’s visits he had coming up and his father’s final wishes.

Forty-five minutes later, Jon was drained and really wished he could go home…to his place. But his place was three hours away.

“Where are you staying?” his father asked as though he sensed Jon’s wish to rest for a while after everything they’d talked about. More talking than they’d done in five years at least.

“I thought I’d get a hotel room.”

“That’s awfully expensive. You’d be welcome at my place,” his father said. There was an imploring sort of tone there that told Jon what his father would never say aloud. He wanted him to stay with him. He didn’t want to be alone.

“Sure thing, Dad.” He turned to leave but his father stopped him once more.

“And Jon?”

“Yes, Dad."

" Don’t tell, Sansa…not yet. She’s a sweet, young thing and she already acts like I’m made of glass. I’d rather tell her a little later on.”

“Whatever you prefer,” he answered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Sansa back story and Jon and Sansa talk some. Rhaegar and Jon keep trying to connect.

_'I tiptoe past the master bedroom where_

_My mother reads her magazines,_

_I hear her call sweet dreams_

_But I forgot how to dream.’_

 

Sansa thanked the customer and watched them leave before she started to lug the heavy tuba case to the back, another repair job for Rhaegar.

“Let me help you with that,” Jon said as he came in for the morning with his coffee in hand.

“Thank you, Jon,” she said, happy to hand over the bulky instrument. “I made muffins this morning. Blueberry. They’re on the counter if you want one.”

“Thank you, Sansa,” he said with a smile.

He headed off to the back with the tuba and Sansa tried to still her pounding heart. _Don’t be such a silly girl, Sansa. Stop crushing on your boss’s son_.

He’d been here for two weeks now and it was getting worse every day. He was sweet and thoughtful…and handsome. _Let’s not forget handsome. Ugh…so handsome_. Sometimes Sansa would catch him looking at her. Of course, she’d been caught staring at him a time or two as well.

She could tell he didn’t really like being here. She’d overheard a very heated exchange just yesterday between him and Rhaegar. They were alike in some ways and as different as the sun and moon in others. But here he was back again this morning after swearing he would be driving back home last night. He was staying with Rhaegar and Sansa wondered if they’d talked things out last night. She doubted it somehow. Rhaegar was a very private sort of person. So was Jon. The fact that they were father and son didn’t seem likely to make them more communicative with each other than anyone else.

She knew Jon’s mother was dead and that he was an only child. She knew that Rhaegar had no other family with whom he was in contact. She suspected the same was true of Jon. And Sansa knew that Rhaegar was ill, possibly dying. She could see it in his eyes. Why else would Jon be here? What else would keep pulling him back every morning after their many arguments? Jon was a grown man. He was a professional musician with his own life in another city. He didn’t need to be here but he was. And that said a good deal about Jon in Sansa’s opinion. She liked him, everything she’d come to know of him so far. But it still wouldn’t do to let this crush get out of hand. He was older than her and he lived somewhere else and he’d probably return to his life soon enough. _He’ll go back after…_ she couldn’t finish the thought without wanting to cry.

Jon’s presence and dedication aside, the truth was as obvious as a brick to the head. Rhaegar was very ill. He was tired all the time though he thought he hid it well. The bliss of self-delusion. His pallor was an unhealthy hue and he was gone a lot for ‘appointments.’ He’d not said anything to her. That was his right and she didn’t blame him. They’d grown close in a way over the months since she’d met him but Sansa knew that to him she was still ‘just a girl’ and he probably thought he could spare her pain by ignoring the elephant in the room. Men could be like that she’d found. Some women could be, too. But Sansa wasn’t a child. _And I’ve known plenty of pain_.

Her mother’s father had died of Alzheimer’s three years earlier. Sansa remembered how Grandpa Hoster had went from this reddish gray-haired knight of incredible strength who was her hero after her own father to this shrunken shell of a man wracked with pain and completely unaware of his family or surroundings. He’d come to live with the family the last eight months of his life. Her mother had nearly wasted away in her grief and worry over her father. Sansa’s own father had walked about the house like a ghost afraid of upsetting his wife and frustrated that he couldn’t do anything to make this better. Her younger brothers had sensed the tension and pain in those months but they were too young to let it squash their spirits entirely. Robb was older, already away from home and living with his girlfriend. But Sansa and Arya lived it, day and night for eight long months. How she’d envied Robb. And how the sisters had sobbed together when Arya in a fit of anger confessed that she wanted him to die so it could just be over and they could go back to the way things were.

 _“You must hate me,”_ Arya had said.

 _“I don’t hate you. I’ve felt the same way at times,”_ she’d responded in a whisper, afraid of being overheard.

But when he did die, Sansa had missed the funeral as well as the next three weeks of school. She’d missed his funeral being in the hospital herself at the time after leaving a party her senior year with Joffrey. He’d had too much to drink and bullied her into getting into the car with him. He’d killed an old man that night in the accident and Sansa’s grandfather had died the next day. Joffrey had killed another person but Sansa was the one eaten alive by guilt. Joffrey’s family was well off. They’d paid off the old man’s family and paid Sansa’s medical bills. They’d hired an excellent attorney and he’d managed to avoid any jail time. They’d went on as though nothing had ever happened. Sansa’s father had nearly broken from the strain of his daughter’s accident on top of his father-in-law’s death while her mother _had_ been broken. _Into a million pieces_. And nothing had been the same at home since then. Things never went back to the way they were.

“Sansa? Are you alright?” She looked up to see Jon staring at her with concern and realized how her melancholic thoughts must have been visible on her face.

“Yes, Jon. I…I will be.”

He looked like he wished to say more but then just nodded to her with a gentle smile and went to snag a muffin. Rhaegar shuffled in for the morning and gruffly greeted his son before turning to smile at her.

“Sansa, dear…I’m getting some new sheet music in if you want first dibs.”

“I’d love that,” she said. “I’ve been practicing for my recital so much and I’m sick of rehearsing the same pieces over and over. It would be nice to have something new to work on.”

“What recital?” Rhaegar inquired.

“Oh, it’s my final grade for the semester. I had to compose some music and then I’ve got to perform it for my professor. We call it a recital since we can have family or friends attend.”

“And will your family be coming?”

“No…it’s too far for them to travel,” she replied evasively.

“Oh…well, maybe I could come see you. If you wouldn’t mind,” Rhaegar said.

“I wouldn’t mind. Jon would be welcome as well.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said. His tone was strangely harsh and Rhaegar looked at him sharply. The two men eyed each other tensely for several heartbeats before Rhaegar dropped his eyes. _Please don’t start arguing already_. “I’m going to go deliver those instruments to the high school for you,” Jon said next in a milder voice. “Would you mind helping me, Sansa? Unless you need her here, Dad…”

“I’ll be fine here,” Rhaegar answered heavily with… _guilt?_

“I’d be happy to help,” Sansa replied wondering what she’d missed.

Sansa rode in the passenger seat of Rhaegar’s van with Jon at the wheel. His jaw was clenched and his knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. Sansa picked at a loose thread on her cardigan and tried to pretend that the air wasn’t thick with tension. He was driving a bit fast in his aggravation and Sansa clutched the door handle. She still got uptight when she rode with others, especially if they were speeding. He stopped short at a red light and she gasped.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll slow down, okay?” She looked over to find his eyes on her. They were a soft grey and different than Rhaegar’s indigo, but here in the sunlight, she thought that maybe they had a hint of something besides grey in them. She nodded and her eyes moved up to his hair. She liked his dark curls and wondered if his mother’s hair had been the same. “I’m sorry,” he said again, “for acting like a dick back there.”

“You didn’t act like a dick. May I ask what that was about though?”

“Just me being a moody little fuck as usual. Sorry…that’s what he would say. After the divorce, he stopped coming to stuff like my performances at school and such. Well, he came to some but then I’d get an earful about how I’d missed a note or slurred a passage or…never mind.”

“It angered you that he asked to come to my recital?”

“A bit. I know that’s ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not,” she said. “You don’t have to come.”

“Sansa, I will gladly come and hear you play. I’ll bring Dad and we’ll both be pleased to see you perform. My anger isn’t about you at all. He likes you and I’m glad. I like you, too,” he finished softly. The light turned green and he started driving again. They were quiet for a time but the tension was gone.

“Jon…I’m sorry but I want to ask. How long does he have?”

He sighed and didn’t turn her way. He kept staring at the road and she feared he wasn’t going to answer before he finally said, “Six months…maybe.”

“Okay,” she said steadily as she breathed in and out to keep from breaking down. She had known. _Why does it hurt so much to have it confirmed?_

“Sansa, he asked me not to tell you. He wants to tell you but my father is…it’s not easy for him to talk about things.”

“I know. I won’t say anything but I didn’t want you to think that I didn’t know.” She reached out her hand and lightly touched his shoulder briefly wondering if that were appropriate or not but not really caring. “I just wanted you to know that I know and you’re not alone here. If you need someone to talk to…” she trailed off lamely hoping he wouldn’t be angry or laugh in her face.

She was twenty-one-years old, a college student who worked part time at his father’s music shop. He was twenty-eight with a life somewhere else and maybe a woman in his life for all she knew…and he was about to lose his only remaining parent. Would he think her a silly girl?

His right hand came off the wheel and reached up to grip hers that was still on his shoulder. “Thank you, Sansa,” he said so quietly she wouldn’t have known he’d spoken except that she was watching his face and could see his lips move. He kept his eyes on the road but Sansa saw the tears glistening in his eyes that now appeared violet in the morning sunshine. He released her hand a moment later but Sansa would’ve sworn her flesh still tingled at his touch long after he’d let go.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon looked back over the paperwork that the palliative care nurse had left trying to make some sense of it all. From what he could decipher, Glioblastoma was the most aggressive form of brain cancer. His mother had died of breast cancer. His father was dying of brain cancer. And right now, he really wanted a cigarette.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath as he kept reading.

“Cheery, isn’t it?” his father asked coming into the room unexpectedly. He’d always been light on his feet. Jon quickly tossed down the paperwork with the same guilty expression he’d worn when his father had caught him with a pornographic magazine when he was twelve. “You eat yet?”

“Uh, no. You want me to fix something?”

“Not hungry.” Rhaegar tapped the side of his head. “Nausea, headaches, confusion. The nausea was what finally sent me to the doctor.”

“Dad, you should try to eat...”

“Tell you what, I could go for a little soup. Would you mind heating up a can for me? I’m wiped.” He chuckled grimly, “Six o’clock and I’m wiped. Pathetic.”

“Sure, I’ll fix it.” Jon moved into the kitchen and found a can of chicken noodle canned sodium in the cupboard and shuddered. “You know, I can make you something healthier,” he called toward the living room.

“Nah…I like that fine,” Rhaegar said coming into the room. “I’ll probably only eat a few bites anyway.”

Jon heated the soup and drank a soda while watching his father pick at his soup. “How’d you meet Sansa, Dad?”

“She started coming into the shop regularly about a year ago. She’s a sweet girl but I think she’s lonely here. Why else would she hang out with an old guy like me at the music shop so much? I finally offered her a job partly because I needed a little help but mostly because I like her company.”

“You ever talk to her about where she’s from or her family?”

“Some,” his father said. “She doesn’t say much and I don’t push. How’s Ygritte?”

 _Well, that was as subtle as a freight train_. “Fine, I guess. We broke up four years ago.”

“Oh…sorry. I thought I saw a picture of you with her on Instagram a while back.”

“Yeah, we’re still friends but we’re not together anymore. And there’s no one else before you ask.”

“Well…Sansa’s a nice girl, several years younger than you. I wouldn’t want you to…”

“What? Be friends with her? Ask her out maybe?”

“Hurt her. I wouldn’t want you to hurt her.”

“Oh, ‘cause I’m an asshole that habitually goes around callously sleeping with college girls and breaking their hearts,” he said caustically.

“No, I didn’t say that and I don’t think that. So, don’t get all pissy.” Jon stood up and walked to the sink, rinsing out the soda bottle to recycle. “Aren’t you going to eat?” his father asked a few minutes later sounding aggrieved as though he'd made a ten course meal and Jon was refusing to eat.

“I’ll eat later, Dad. I’m used to being up late so I usually eat pretty late.”

“That’s not really healthy.”

“Neither is canned soup.”

“Neither is cancer,” Rhaegar snorted. Jon grimaced and his father said, “Sorry. I’ve grown a bit morbid with my humor.”

Jon rubbed his hands over his face. He’d been here two weeks and he sometimes felt like he might prefer to crawl out of his own skin rather than spend another minute in his father’s presence. They’d argued more than they had since Jon had left for college. _Trapped in the same house again or at the shop together all day…not surprising_.

But other times, there were glimmers of the relationship they could’ve had. When they talked about music…well, it was just better between them.

They’d had a huge fight yesterday afternoon at the store. Sansa had been up front and Jon cringed to think of her being forced to listen to them air their bullshit from ten years earlier. The hurt and worried look on her face when he’d stormed out at last made him feel like the world’s biggest jerk. His father was dying and they were arguing about shit that should be water under the bridge.

They hadn’t talked about their fight when Rhaegar had come home last night. Jon had decided before he’d made it to the house that he wouldn’t leave. _I’m not going to leave_ _you._ He’d pulled out his guitar and started composing a bit. He didn’t consider himself a gifted songwriter but it always calmed him when he was frustrated and angry. _I’ll_ _probably do a lot of composing the new few months. Maybe some of it will turn out to not be garbage_. His father had stood in the doorway of the guest bedroom watching him play for a while before Jon was aware of him.

 _“You write that?”_ Rhaegar had asked.

 _“Yeah,”_ he answered, waiting of the critique that usually followed.

 _“It’s good,”_ his old man had said before heading to his own room.

 

His father watched him clean up the kitchen after finishing his soup and Jon asked if he needed anything else. His dad shook his head and said he was going to go lay down and watch one of his Lawrence Welk DVDs. Jon stood at the sink rolling his eyes and smiling to himself at that. Their musical tastes had always differed and Rhaegar had long been fascinated by the music of an earlier generation than his own. He loved Big Band music and Classical. Much of his favorite music had been written a century ago…or two. After the army and before Jon was born, Rhaegar had played the harp. He’d never stopped playing it really. _‘Who on Earth gives a shit about the harp?’_ Jon had asked him once when he was seventeen. But his father had been a well-respected harpist…in the circle of harp enthusiasts anyway. Jon had never understood how renowned his father was until he was older. And by then their relationship was so strained that he’d felt too ashamed to admit he’d been a prick as a teen and acknowledge that his father’s talent meant something to people.

“I’m sorry about yesterday, Dad. Sorry for the things I said,” Jon said before his father left the kitchen.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry, too.”

About an hour later, close to seven o’clock, Jon heard him vomiting in the master bathroom. He stood outside the door feeling sick at his own stomach and shaky with nerves. _I_ _don’t know what the fuck to do_.

“Dad?” he called through the door. “Are you…”

“I’m fine,” his father choked out hoarsely. He came out a few minutes later, looking like death warmed over. Jon held out his arm and his father took it. He helped him back to the bed. “Start that back, would you?” he asked pointing to the DVD player.

Jon started the show back and asked, “Do you need me to hang out with you here?”

“No, I should be good now. You going out?”

“I thought I would if you don’t mind.”

His father grunted his ascent and Jon fled the house looking for fresh air and place to go where he wasn’t constantly thinking about the past or his father’s illness. He sat in his car wondering where to go exactly and what to do. He knew what he wanted to do and who he wanted to call but his father’s words had rattled him. He liked her but he barely knew her. He didn’t plan on hurting her but as he dialed her number he couldn’t help but question his intentions.

Fifteen minutes later, he stood outside her apartment still trying to figure that out.

“Hey, Jon,” she said as she opened the door. She leaned against the door and smiled. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she was in some sort of lounge pants, an old tee shirt that was rather small and no bra apparently. She looked beautiful. She was beautiful. “Come on in. I ordered a pizza. You hungry?”

“Yeah. Thank you, Sansa,” he said as he followed her inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics-'That's the Way I've Always Heard It Should Be' by Carly Simon


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa entertains company at night and Rhaegar is forced to admit his illness.

_‘Strumming my pain with his fingers_

_Singing my life with his words_

_Killing me softly with his song_

_Killing me softly with his song’_

 

That night had been somewhat awkward. He obviously was uncertain about being there but that was alright. Sansa had been surprised by his call but pleased nonetheless. They sat and talked. At first it was little stutter-steps of conversation. A great flood of words would be followed by a long and uncomfortable silence, like the tide’s ebb and flow.

At least there was pizza…and wine. Food is always a good way to occupy your mouth when you don’t know what to say. And wine is good to keep uncomfortable silences from getting too strained but Jon stuck to water. Maybe she should have, too.

But occasionally…there would be this flicker of something, this little spark of tension and need that passed between them. Every time some part of them would touch while reaching for a slice or sitting close together on Sansa’s small loveseat, she’d feel a thrumming energy like the charge in the air right before an electrical storm. He felt it, too. She was almost certain of that.

Before he left, he asked her not to mention the visit to his father.

“May I ask why?” she said as she walked him towards the door.

“I think he’s afraid I’m…shit, I hate saying this out loud. I think he’s afraid I’ll take advantage of you,” he said with an embarrassed shake of the head.

“Maybe he should be more concerned with me taking advantage of you,” she replied without really thinking. She’d had a bit too much wine. _Oh, shit!_ Jon smiled mischievously at her though and headed out the door. She thought it was the sexist smile she’d ever seen.

The next morning, Sansa’s head was hurting as she headed to class and she kept telling herself to be careful around Jon. He was facing a painful situation, one that she was familiar with. He had needed companionship last night. He might need more than that in a way. She wanted to offer her friendship and support but she didn’t want to hurt him.

She knew she was lonely. It had lured her to hanging out at Rhaegar’s shop in the first place. Rhaegar was kind and non-threatening and they could talk about music and there wasn’t this pressure to be something she wasn’t. Three years she’d been at school and, while she’d made friends, she had always kept her walls up to keep anyone from getting too close, including guys. She never imagined that Rhaegar would have a son that would come along and make her want to tear down those walls she’d erected so carefully.

She’d been drawn to Jon though as soon as she met him. He was good-looking and very kind. He was desirable too but would a roll in the sack make things better or worse for either of them? Could sex even without strings attached help or hurt in this instance? And was she fooling herself about there not being any strings? Sansa wanted to say she was capable of having a little fun without those strings tripping her up but she knew deep down she just wasn’t wired that way.

She didn’t want to keep things from Rhaegar either but for now she’d heed Jon’s wishes about his visit. _It was just the one time, right? He just needed someone to talk to last_ _night. No need to worry over this_.

It wasn’t going to be just one time though. The very next night her phone chimed with a text closer to 10 this time.

 

_Sorry to bother you but are you up?_

_I am. You okay?_

_No. I could really use some company. Can I come over?_

_Yes. Did you eat?_

_No._

_I made some chicken and rice._

_Sounds great. Thanks_

 

There were still those stilted pauses in conversation but the mood became more relaxed as they sat side by side as he ate her leftovers. They talked more of music and Sansa learned about Jon’s career as a studio musician and his burgeoning success as a guest guitarist for different acts.

“I’d like to come see you perform sometime,” she said as she poured another glass of wine.

Jon had brought a six pack of Heineken with him tonight. He sipped his lone bottle though and stuck the rest in her fridge. She liked to think that meant he’d be coming back again.

“I’d love to have you come to a show sometime,” he said. “Speaking of performing…when’s this recital exactly? Dad mentioned it to me again at home tonight.”

“Ugh…two weeks away. Thursday the 10th to be exact. I’m nervous as hell about it.” _And nervous about other things right now_. She tucked her hair back behind her ear and glanced at him from beneath her lashes. “I’m glad you’re both coming though. It’ll mean a lot to have some support.”

His hand had strayed over to her side of the loveseat and covered her own. “We’ll be happy to be there for you,” he said. She let his hand linger until he asked, “You said it was too far for your folks to come?”

“Yes,” she said pulling her hand back and taking her glass to the sink.

He picked up on her sudden tension at once. “I…I should probably head on home,” he said.

“No…I mean, I’m sorry. Look…I’m not willing to talk about my family right now but that’s not your fault. Okay?”

“I understand, Sansa. I’m the last one who can say anything to you about that. Everyone says I’m quiet but I can’t seem to shut the fuck up over here. Sorry if I’ve blabbed your ear off. I know you’ve got school in the morning. I’ll see you at the shop tomorrow.”

She didn’t want him to leave but of course he was right. What was she going to do? Beg him to stay? Invite him into her bed just because she didn’t want to be alone…because she wondered what it’d feel like to have Jon hold her?

She nodded and walked him to the door again. “Jon, you can talk to me as much as you want. I don’t mind. And I don’t think you blabbed too much, okay?”

“Alright,” he said. He was facing her and had a serious look on his face again…like he was considering something. “Good night, Sansa,” he said at last when he turned to go.

 

When she entered the shop the next afternoon, Rhaegar was talking to another man near his age and Jon was standing over by the counter.

“Hey,” she said coming over to him.

“Hey,” he replied with a smile that made her feel like blushing for some reason. She glanced at Rhaegar and felt like a kid who was sneaking around behind Dad’s back. _It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong though. We’ve not slept together or anything. And even if we did, we’re adults and that’d be our business._

“How was school?” Jon asked drawing her from her thoughts.

“Good.”

“I hope your head wasn’t hurting too much,” he whispered next as his father laughed loudly with the other man.

“Argh…my head _was_ hurting again this morning. Don’t let me drink so much on a school night next time…I mean, if there is another…” _Shit. Way to assume this will continue,_ _Sansa. Well, he left beer in my fridge. Isn’t that like a guy’s way of saying, I’ll be back?_

“I’d like that,” he said at once. “I’d enjoy it if…”

“Jon,” Rhaegar called. “Can you come over here a minute?”

Jon gave her a parting nod and went over to the older men.

Sansa headed to the back to drop off her bag and go back to her file clean out that Rhaegar had asked her to work on yesterday. Years and years of useless paperwork with an occasional piece of some importance to be laid aside for Rhaegar to consider whether or not it was worth keeping. Old instrument rental contracts going back to the 80s, old sales receipts, old catalogs, old business ledgers, old Christmas cards…it was quite the collection.

But there were occasionally photographs and letters tucked in amongst the junk. A picture caught her eye of a boy that was unmistakably Jon probably around the age of six or seven. She smiled at his raven curls and the serious cast of his expression. _So serious…even as a child_. He stood beside what Sansa could only assume was his mother. Dark hair but not as curly as his and the same grey eyes. And the same expression. _I wonder when they got divorced?_

Sansa found some hand-written sheet music next. She recognized Rhaegar’s scrawl across the top and looking at it thought it must’ve been composed for the harp. Her mind automatically began transposing the different compositions for the piano. One piece in particular drew her eye. ‘For Jon’ he had written at the top.

Sansa plucked out the notes in her mind and began to hum the tune softly under her breath. It was a sweet song but it had a bitter undertone. Once, when she was still just a girl, she probably would’ve said she didn’t like it. But now, she found she did not mind the pairing of bitter and sweet so much. It spoke of joy and loss, of happiness and angst mixed. It was a song that Sansa thought suited the boy with the grey eyes and somber face. She wondered when Rhaegar had written it and if he’d ever shared it with Jon. She didn’t think so.

The dust swirled in the air around her in the old office as she hummed. The mustiness felt like a cloak protecting her from the harsh realities of life. It was like pretending she could live in the past; the halcyon days of childhood. Just an innocent sort of make-believe, longing for a time when life was less complicated and loved ones weren’t dying. Back when she could believe the sweet songs without question and not gag at their cloying falsity.

She was already on the second file cabinet when Jon came back to retrieve a repaired flute that the owner had come to pick up.

“I don’t see how you’re not choking back here with all this dust.”

“It’s okay. I’ve developed quite a dust tolerance working here,” she joked. “Who was your dad talking to? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Jon Connington. Some old friend that he used to perform with back in the day. He was friends with my dad and mom both. Apparently, they named me after him. He’d not seen me since I was three or four, I think, and I didn’t remember him. I don’t even remember my folks ever mentioning his name really. Dad doesn’t keep in touch with his friends…or anyone so well. Mom did though so it’s odd that she never mentioned him. I guess she got one Jon in the divorce and lost the other,” he said as a joke. It sounded terribly forced. She gave him a sympathetic look and he cringed. “Never mind,” he said, shaking his head.

“What brought him in?” she asked to keep him from sinking into melancholy. Jon had a tendency to brood to say the least.

“Dad’s trying to find someone to take over the shop. He called him hoping he might know of someone that might be interested. He lives about an hour away but he drove in after Dad’s call last night. I guess Mr. Connington wanted to see Dad again, you know…before…” he trailed off and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Sansa drew a sharp breath and turned around. Rhaegar still hadn’t told her but she knew she shouldn’t feel bitter and hurt by that, should she? _He told his son and a friend his_ _age. Why would he tell you, stupid girl?_

She felt her throat burning with the tears she was trying to swallow all the same. She kept her fingers busy absently trailing over the contents of the cabinet drawer open in front of her. She sniffed louder than she meant to but was determined to look absorbed in her work with her back to Jon, hoping he’d take the flute on out front and leave her be. _I will not cry here…not in front of Jon._

But when she felt Jon’s fingertips brush her elbow, she knew she was not so strong. She spun around and fell into his arms at once. She buried her face into his neck and was sobbing before he even got his arms completely wrapped around her.

“Sansa,” he sighed, stroking her back and tilting his chin to keep her nestled against him.

“I’m sorry,” she choked. “He’s _your_ father. I’m acting like a…”

“Hush, sweetheart…it’s alright,” he said.

Sansa shivered at that word…sweetheart. She wanted to be called that by him again. His arms felt so right holding her like this. _I am pathetic. He only means to comfort me. I’m a_ _romantic fool to make more of it than that_.

“Jon?” They both looked towards the door just as Rhaegar walked through. His smile died on his lips as he took in her teary face and the way they were embracing. “Couldn’t you find the flute? The customer is waiting,” he said coldly.

“Dad…”

“Here it is,” his father snapped as he lifted it off the counter. “Easy enough to find.” He turned at the threshold and looked back at Jon with the fury plain on his face. “I asked you not to tell her. That was my news to share.” He walked out of the room. Not once had he looked at Sansa.

Jon started to follow him but she grabbed his wrist suddenly incensed on his behalf. “Wait. Let me talk to him first. Honesty is the best policy my father would say. I’ll tell him that I know, that I figured it out on my own and that you were only comforting me.”

He nodded but when she turned to go he grasped her arm now. “Sansa…I’m sorry. I know this is hurting you, too,” he said. His voice was low and husky and it sent a jolt of longing through her. But it frightened her a bit, too. She felt that crackle of electricity pass between them like a lightning bolt seeking the earth during a thunderstorm. A _nd what will happen when it strikes?_

She pulled away from him more forcefully than necessary and he released her. She took up the sheet music she had found and headed towards the front.

Rhaegar was already alone up when she joined him. He glanced at her and then turned towards the counter, ignoring her. And that pissed her off even more.

“I figured it out, okay? He didn’t tell me.” Silence. “I respect that it’s your business and you don’t owe me any explanations. I’m sorry if you feel angry about it but your son didn’t betray your trust.” She saw his silver head sink to his chest. “I thought…” _Shit, don’t start crying again._ “I thought that maybe we were friends and could…talk about this…but I understand if you don’t want to talk to me,” she barely finished as she started crying. _So much for being pissed and not crying_.

This wasn’t how she wanted to handle this conversation. Where was her father’s icy calm demeanor? Where was her mother’s steely fortitude? Back when Catelyn Stark still had it, before her father’s illness had broken her. Why did she have to cry like a little girl instead of talking to him like a grown-ass woman? He was the one that was dying. Why the fuck did she feel like she was the one that needed comforting?

“Sansa,” he said. “Please, don’t cry.” She would not fall into his arms like she did his son’s. She was still too angry for that. She could stand on her own two feet for the space of this conversation, dammit. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. You are my friend. You’re a sweet girl. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You’ve been lying though. You’re not supposed to lie, not to a friend. You lied to me and it hurts, Rhaegar!” she shouted. The anger had surfaced at last to stem the tears…for a few seconds anyway.

“I’m sorry. I’m a selfish old man. I like your company. I…I like your sweet face and pretty smiles. I don’t mean that like a dirty old man. I’ve been alone for a long time. You’re a ray of sunshine in my dingy old life, Sansa. I wanted…I liked that we were friends and that you saw something in me…and in my music shop that you liked and respected enough to waste your time here.”

“I didn’t consider it a waste of my time,” she said bitterly, still smarting from his deception but trying to look past that now.

“I know. I just…I’m ill. I guess that’s obvious. I’m going to die…much sooner than I’d like. I was afraid if I told you…honey, you’re such a sweet young thing. You already treat me like an old man. I guess fifty-two seems old when you’re twenty-one but someday it won’t seem quite so bad. I didn’t want you to feel like you’ve got to play nursemaid around here. I didn’t want…” He drew a deep breath. Sansa heard Jon enter the room behind her. But she didn’t turn to face him now. “A friend of mine was diagnosed with cancer when he was thirty-two. Can you imagine? Thirty-two. He had a wife and three young children and a great career in music. His friends…all of us went from admiring the guy to pitying him. ‘Did you hear about David? Poor bastard…he’s got cancer.’ Hell, he lived another five years but to most of the guys it was like he was already gone. I didn’t want your pity like that. I didn’t want this disease to define me...to be all you saw when you looked at me, alright?”

Sansa nodded and then she did stumble forward to embrace him. “I understand,” she said at last after pulling out of his arms.

“I’m sorry I hid it from you. I’m trying to sell the store and maybe you can keep working here…”

“I’m not worried about the job. I just want to be here to help you…for however long you have…need of me.”

“Okay.”

She glanced over at Jon. Were his visits to remain a secret? She gave Jon a long and meaningful glance. He reluctantly nodded and mouthed ‘later.’ _Fair enough_.

She glanced at the sheet music she’d found in the back. She’d meant to show it to Rhaegar and ask him if he wanted it. But it’d been buried in a drawer for over a decade or more and right now, Sansa wanted that music. And she knew what she wanted to do with it. _Not a secret…a surprise_.

 

* * *

 

 

Four of the next five nights, he went to her place once his father was asleep. He told her he hated keeping her up at night and she reminded him she was in college and was used to being up.

She buzzed him in and he headed up the flight of stairs to her door. Her next-door neighbor who Jon had seen the past three nights either heading out with his dog for a walk or back in, waved to him. _Probably thinks I’m her boyfriend. What else would he think? You show up here six out of the last seven nights and stay until late_.

She’d cracked the door for him and he shouldered it open as his hands were full of take-out.

“Did someone order Kung Pao Chicken?” he asked but then froze when he saw her sitting at her keyboard and heard the haunting melody she was playing. It sounded like something out of a dream…and she _looked_ like something out of a dream. Her usual lounge pants and t-shirt had been replaced by silky, blue robe; the same cerulean blue as her eyes. Her hair was loose, hanging down her back and looked damp, like she’d just showered. The robe covered her…all of her really but there was something so enticing about wondering if she was wearing anything under there. _Ah, fuck_ , he thought as he had to adjust himself on the sly with the thought that maybe she wasn’t.

“Hey,” she said with an easy smile. Jon swallowed hard and tried not to gape at her but he was busy picturing miles of creamy, ivory flesh. He imagined Sansa with the robe untied and thrown open and bare beneath it…and then bare beneath him. “Jon?” she quizzed as he continued standing there like a man obsessed.

“Am I overdressed?” he said in what he hoped was a playful tone. It sounded suspiciously like a squeak to him though.

“Oh! Sorry,” she laughed, blushing and pulling the robe a bit closer together. “I was taking a hot bath when you texted. I meant to get changed but couldn’t leave this alone. Give me a minute,” she said shuffling the music around on her stand and then scurrying to her bedroom.

He put the take out on the counter and walked over to her keyboard and the music stand. There was an old musty piece of sheet music that was hand-written and some others behind it. He started to flip through it when her shout made him jump like a thief caught red-handed.

“Don’t!” she cried coming back in from the bedroom in that t-shirt from the first night but short-shorts tonight instead of her lounge pants. _She’s tormenting me…such sweet_ _torment. Relax, she’s in college. Lots of college girls hang out in their dorms or apartments dressed like this, I imagine. Goddamn, just don’t look too_ _close_ , he thought with a grimace as he saw an incredible amount of long, white legs. It was getting warmer outside and right now, Sansa’s apartment felt about twenty degrees warmer than normal. “Don’t look!” she yelled, indicating the music.

“Uh…okay. Sorry.” _I’m too busy staring at you anyway_.

“No…shit! I’m didn’t mean to bark at you,” she said coming over and putting away the music. “It’s something that I’m working on and it might be a surprise for you and your dad, okay?”

“Are you writing something for us?” he asked incredulously.

“Not exactly,” was her elusive reply. “But you’ve got to be good and promise not to peek anymore.”

“I’ll be a good boy. I promise not to peek,” he said with a devilish grin before his eyes betrayed him by raking over her shirt.

It was white and tight… _and no bra again_. He could faintly see the outline of her areolas and nipples through it. He wondered if they were more pink or tawny and licked his lips subconsciously.

“Are you…Jon Targaryen, are you staring at my tits?!” she asked indignantly.

“Umm…yes,” he said as his eyes guiltily darted to hers.

“Oh my, God!” she exclaimed, clasping her breasts with her hands.

 _Okay, see…touching yourself isn’t exactly a turn off for me. Far from it_. “Sansa…that shirt is just a bit, umm…tight. It doesn’t…fuck. I didn’t want to embarrass you by saying anything,” he finally said throwing up his hands in surrender.

She flushed a vivid scarlet. “So, rather than say anything, you’ve just been checking me out until I caught you?”

“Well, yeah,” he said sheepishly. “I mean…sorry.”

She smacked his arm and tried to look pissed. But she couldn’t contain her giggles for long which caused him to laugh, too.

“I’ll grab another shirt…or a poncho. Behave and pour me some wine.”

“Just one glass though, right? It’s a school night!”

“I might need two to get over the mortification!” she called over her shoulder.

He grinned widely and walked over to her little kitchen and pulled out a wine glass. He loved coming here and spending time with her like this. Things with his father were improving but it was still very much a work in progress. Emotionally, there was a lot of heavy-lifting to do there and they both struggled with it. And the disease hadn’t gone anywhere.

Being with Sansa in the evenings was quickly becoming his favorite part of his day. He felt guilty to admit that. He was supposed to be here for his dad but she was who he most wanted to spend his evenings with. She lightened his heart with her sunny smile and teasing ways. She was lovely, clever and a very sweet person. Jon wondered how all the guys at her school could be possibly be such idiots since she’d mentioned not having a boyfriend at school. He’d have given anything to have a girl like Sansa when he was still in college. _Well, maybe not just when I was in college._

Things were improving with his father despite the set-back of an argument or two. If Jon was to be honest though, he’d have to admit that the arguments were helping in a way. He hadn’t realized how much bitterness he’d bottled up over the divorce when he was a kid. And how much bitterness he’d felt about his distant, perfectionist father who was always riding his ass about something as a teenager. Or how much bitterness Rhaegar had of his own. But it was like they were syphoning out some of that poison of an infected place when they shouted and quarreled now. It hurt…like an old wound that had never healed properly was being ripped back open. But then after it felt like maybe it would finally heal properly.

So, he felt extra shitty about sneaking out of the house after his father went to bed like a teenager. But once he was here with Sansa, he didn’t feel shitty at all. He knew she wanted him to come clean with his dad about that but he still figured the old man would suspected him of just trying to get into Sansa’s pants. _And maybe he’d be right…but it’s not just that._

“You decent yet?” he called as he set down her glass of Riesling for her and a plate of Kung Pao on the coffee table.

“Yes…sorry to disappoint you,” she snarked as she flopped down beside him on the loveseat.

His eyes darted to the thick sweatshirt she’d put on and he chuckled. “It’s awfully warm for that. But I guess that’s to make up for all the leg you’ve got exposed in those shorts.” He laughed aloud at her adorably cross expression then but, as she started to get up to put on some snow pants or something equally bulky and covering no doubt, he grasped her knee and said, “You know I’m just messing with you, Stark. Sit down and eat.”

She looked at his hand on her knee and gave him a bewitching grin. His heart hammered in his chest as he stroked it softly with his thumb for three seconds…three seconds too long. He moved his hand like he’d just scalded it and dove into his food like a starving man. _Starving for what exactly?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from 'Killing Me Softly' by Roberta Flack


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Rhaegar talk. Sansa finally opens up to Jon.
> 
> Tags updated!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning-mentions of past abuse and attempted suicide.

_‘The full moon is calling, the fever is high_

_And the wicked wind whispers and moans_

_You got your demons, you got desires_

_Well, I got a few of my own’_

 

Jon sat in the waiting room after his father had been called back absently flipping through magazines. He kept stifling yawns as he had stayed at Sansa’s till late and then been awoken at 5AM by the sound of Rhaegar shuffling around. His father went to bed early most nights but he didn’t seem to rest all that well and he was often up early, especially on mornings that he had doctor’s appointments, even when those appointments weren’t scheduled until 9AM or later.

Usually, Jon just slept on but this morning his conscience had been bothering him. His father had asked the day before where he’d been going at night. Jon didn’t realize Rhaegar had noted his absence in truth. He should have. His father might not have the most winning personality but Rhaegar was sharp and noticed things. Jon had been caught off guard by the question…and then he had lied.

“Just out for a drink. Sometimes, I like to hear the local bands play at The Wall.”

“That place is a dive, son,” his father had said. “I can’t imagine there’s much music being played there that’s worth listening to.”

And Jon ducked his head to hide his blush because he couldn’t have said what kind of bands played at The Wall anymore as he had only been there once years ago when he was watching Ygritte’s band play. It wasn’t a normal thing for Jon to lie. He hated lying in others and he didn’t like making excuses for himself when he did it. So, why did he?

And, Sansa wanted him to tell Rhaegar that he was visiting her at night. She didn’t like lying or secrets either though she kept her own silences about many things. He furrowed his brow and frowned at that thought. He wished she’d be more open with him about herself. He was pouring his heart out to her nightly and Sansa, angel that she was, listened and consoled and made him laugh. But there was a darkness in her past. Jon could tell and he wanted to be there for her just as she had been there for him all these nights now.

He sighed and shut his eyes. He was letting down two people that he cared about…that he loved. _Time to man up and come clean_ , he decided just as his phone started vibrating. He instantly thought it might be Sansa and found that he was extremely disappointed when he saw it wasn’t her. He was finishing up his call when Rhaegar returned to him.

“Hey, Dad. What’d they say?”

His father made a sour face and said, “What’d they say? ‘Oh…we’re sorry, Mr. Targaryen, but you’re still dying.’ What did you think they were going to say?” Jon looked down and drew a deep breath. His father was getting more and more testy lately. It could happen with his illness. _It could happen regardless_. “Who were you talking to on the phone?” he asked as they headed out to the parking lot.

Jon unlocked his dad’s van and helped his father climb in. His balance hadn’t been good today. It hadn’t been good a lot lately. He’d get starchy if Jon or Sansa mentioned it though so Jon had just started silently offering his arm now whether it was time for his father to head up the stairs to his room at night or time for his shower or whatever.

“It was Sam.”

“He’s your agent, right?”

“I don’t have an agent, Dad,” Jon laughed. “I’m not some big name that needs an agent. Sam’s my friend. He just helps me keep track of performance dates and such. And sometimes people call him when they want to ask me about a job.”

“That sounds like an agent to me.”

“Should I start paying him then?”

“Nah…save your money,” his father laughed in turn. “So, what did Friend Sam have to say?”

“I got invited to tour this summer with The Watchers. They need a guitarist since the regular guy is going into rehab.”

“That’s good. I mean, not good for the other fellow but a good thing for you.”

“Dad…I’m not going anywhere. I told Sam I’d turn it down.”

“Why? It’s a good opportunity. They’re an up and coming act, aren’t they?”

“I said I’d be here for you and I meant it.”

“Well, I’m not trying to hold you back,” his father said in that crusty tone he adopted when he was getting emotional but didn’t want you to know it. _Shit, I really am getting to_ _know him better_.

“I didn’t think you were. I want to be here for you. You’re…you’re more important, alright?”

“Fine,” Rhaegar said looking away. Jon knew very well by now how his father didn’t like to show his emotions except in his music. Jon walked around to the driver’s side accepting that his father would never be Ward Cleaver but glad that they could at least talk to each other now. Then, just like that, the pang of guilt hit again. _Confess._ The word echoed in his head as he started the van. He nearly jumped when his father put his hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good son, Jon. You always were.”

 _Great. Now I feel like a total shit._ Jon swallowed hard to master is own emotions before speaking. “Dad?” He waited for Rhaegar to look back at him. He’d been turned away again watching the scenery as they drove along. “I’m not going to a bar at night. I’m going to Sansa’s. Just to talk,” he clarified at his father’s pursed lips. “She’s been really supportive and…”

“She would be.”

“I feel like an asshole for lying to you.”

“Why did you lie?”

“I just…what you said about me not taking advantage of her, I thought you’d be mad if you knew.”

“Are you sleeping with her?”

“No!”

“Not yet anyway,” Rhaegar said with a shrewd look.

“God dammit…I didn’t say that.” His father started chuckling. “I’m not! Would you please stop laughing? I already feel like I’m a kid again getting busted doing something wrong. I’m a grown man but I’m sneaking around to see a girl because I’m afraid my father won’t approve and I’m not even fucking her. How messed up is that?”

“Jon, she’s a wonderful person. I’m glad if she’s able to help you sort through some things. And what I said before about not taking advantage of her wasn’t really fair. You’re both adults and you’re a good guy. Sansa means a lot to me though. I’ve been lonely a long time and she really has been a comfort and good company. She’s a joy to be around. She’s troubled though. I can tell. But she doesn’t share her problems with me. Maybe she’ll share them with you.”

“I hope so,” he said uncertainly. “Thanks for being…uh, cool about it.”

Rhaegar smiled at him and looked back out at the scenery. “Spring really is my favorite season, you know. All the flowers in bloom and the new buds on the trees, a rebirth.  It’s glorious. It’s something a person shouldn’t take for granted. I’d compose an opus to celebrate it but Vivaldi already did far better than I ever could.”

“Yeah,” Jon said trying not to think too hard about those words. _I think we just had our Ward and Wally Cleaver moment there. And will this really be his last Spring? Holy shit_. He wiped his eyes and kept driving.

Twenty minutes later they walked into the shop to find Sansa speaking with Jon Connington again. Rhaegar was pleased to see his friend and they headed off to the back room so they could discuss a potential interested buyer for the shop. Jon walked over to Sansa and nudged her shoulder prompting her to smile.

“I told him,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck and waiting for her reaction.

“Good,” she said primly. “It’s about time.” Jon playfully rolled his eyes at her but her next question sobered him. “What’d the doctor say?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t invite me back with him but more of the same, I’m afraid.” She bit her lip and sighed. “Can I…can I still come over tonight?” he asked next.

“Of course, Jon.”

“I feel like a mooch always coming over and eating your food.”

“You bring me food all the time…and wine.”

“I’m sure you’ve got friends you’d rather spend time with and…you know, guys you’d rather see,” he said giving her a long look.

He knew he was being pathetic. He couldn’t help it. He longed to spend time with her and he felt ridiculous about it, too. He was supposed to be older, more mature, wasn’t he? But here he was begging to come over to her apartment every night and hang out like a college kid with nothing else to do. It was more than that though. He wanted to be with her because he couldn’t stop thinking about her. God, he wanted her, all of her, so badly.

“I don’t…there’s not anyone else knocking on my door at night, alright?” she replied with a shrug.

Maybe he should feel bad about that, sorry for her or something. She was beautiful, smart, funny…everything a guy could want. Why didn’t she have any friends her age to hang out with? Why didn’t she want to talk about her family…ever? And, why did that selfish part of him feel so freaking happy to think she was all his? _You are so pathetic, Jon_.

“So, Mr. Mooch…you going to feed me tonight?” she asked with a pretty little pout as they started their inventory of the reeds and mouthpieces that were on the shelf for sale.

“It’d be my pleasure,” he answered, getting lost in staring at those sweet, pink lips that were puckered adorably at the moment. _Begging for a kiss_.

“You going to bring me some wine, too?” she asked next walking her fingers up his arm before she reached past him for the next batch of reeds.

“Uh, yes,” he said, trying to ignore the way her teasing was making his dick twitch with sudden interest. _Right here in the middle of the store, for Christ’s sake. Keep it together._ _Don’t get a fucking hard on right now_. He looked over just in time to see Sansa bend over to scoop up some reeds that had fallen to the floor and had a perfect view of her skinny jean-clad ass. _Too late_.

 

* * *

 

 

“I love you, too, Daddy.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance as Sansa hung up the phone and fought the tears as long as she could. It was pointless though. She was a crier. She couldn’t help that. She never could fight back tears for long. But Jon was expected soon and she would try to hold it together.

She sniffed a time or two and looked at herself in the mirror. _I am stronger now than I was then, much stronger. I will not cry_.

So naturally, when she opened the door ten minutes later to find Jon on the other side holding a paper bag filled with Indian food and a bottle of her favorite wine, she immediately burst into tears.

“Oh, my God…what’s wrong?” he asked with sweet concern as she stood there helplessly flailing her arms and claiming she was fine. “You don’t look fine,” he argued.

“It’s nothing,” she wailed next. He cocked an eyebrow at her to express his disbelief. “My dad called, okay?” She cringed at the way her voice shot up two octaves mid-sentence.

“Did something happen? Is someone hurt?” he asked concernedly while putting the bag quickly on the kitchen counter and crossing back to her.

Of course, Jon would be practical. Why else would a person be crying because their father called unless something was wrong? She shook her head and then starting bawling like a baby. He pulled her into a hug and she let him hold her for several minutes before she felt ready to speak again.

“He said he loved me,” she said while hiccupping and noisily blowing her nose. _What a lovely sight, Sansa_.

“Oh…well, he sounds like a real asshole,” Jon deadpanned. Her head jerked up and her eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry,” he said contritely…right before he started snickering.

“You! Oh…you’re a real jerk, Jon Targaryen!” she shouted, raining blows down on his shoulders while she tried to stop the corners of her mouth from turning upward. He was laughing now and soon she was, too. “I’m having a fucking breakdown here. Respect the process, asshole!”

“Yeah, I’ve been told what an insensitive prick I am a time or two,” he conceded once the laughter died down.

“I don’t doubt it,” she said haughtily.

He took her hand and she begrudgingly allowed him to lead her to the loveseat. He sat down, tugging at her hand while she stood there stubbornly trying to ignore his sad puppy-dog eyes.

“Come on, Sansa. Sit down and tell me about it. I whine to you about all my shit. Remind me I’m not alone in being miserable.”

“Are you miserable?” she asked as she took a seat. She hoped he wasn’t.

“Not really,” he said. “Not when I’m with you.”

Whether it was the whole truth or not, his comment made her heart glow. The smile she’d tried to hide earlier came back full force then and she sat down next to him. He lifted his hand to her cheek before tucking some of her hair back behind her ear but he retracted his hand the next instant as though he’d touched a hot iron and looked awkwardly away. _Oh no, you don’t_. She grasped his hand and brought it to her knee, lightly stroking his knuckles with her fingertips. His eyes lifted back to hers and she felt the glow in her heart seeping through her again, making her warm in other ways now…and in other places.

These little moments of intimacy had been increasing the past week. That current that charged the air around them had not gone away. The more time they spent holed up in her apartment at night, the stronger it became. A thunderstorm was building outside on this spring evening and building in Sansa’s apartment, too. The humidity was increasing, the storm would soon erupt and Sansa wanted to fling her arms out wide and welcome the rain.

Jon had finally confessed to his father about his little nightly visits today. Thankfully, there’d been no argument or anger. She hoped Rhaegar wasn’t still worrying about her with Jon. Maybe he’d been worried that his son might take advantage of a younger woman in his emotionally strained state. He had no idea how emotionally strained Sansa Stark was though and how much she might need Jon’s laughter and gentle touches to alleviate the guilt and self-imposed isolation that she’d lived with the past three years.

“Will you tell me, sweetheart?” he asked, melting her with the intensity of his gaze.

There was that word again…sweetheart. Did he have any idea how that word affected her when he uttered it? She shivered and leaned into him knowing he’d give her what she wanted. His arms pulled her into a warm embrace. His lips kissed the top of her head. She managed to get her own arms around his waist and she nestled into the crook of his neck, not minding his freshly trimmed beard that still pricked at her tender cheek. She inhaled his masculine fragrance and realized with a jolt that he used the same aftershave as her father.

“Jon,” she crooned as she moved her lips closer to his ear. She lightly brushed his cheek with them, a gentle kiss.

He shook his head and pulled back. “Sansa,” he warned. “I’m not…I want to be your friend. I’m not here for that. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You are my friend. And, you shouldn’t be afraid of hurting. Hurting is feeling at least and I want to feel something, Jon. Anything is preferable to being numb inside. I’m so lonely.” She could tell his resolve was crumbling and she took his hand. “I know you don’t want to hurt me. I don’t think you will. I don’t want to hurt you either. But I want you, Jon. I want you more than anything I’ve ever wanted.”

She could see him wavering. His eyes dipped to her lips and back up again. He wanted this, too. But then he hesitated again.

“No…not until you tell me something about it. You’re in pain because your father told you he loves you. That’s not a good thing. You need to talk to someone, Sansa. I know because I’m in the same boat as you. It’s why I’m over here every night.” He ran his hand through those dark curls of his and sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want you. I do. But if anything is going to happen between us, let it happen openly and honestly. Tell me why you were crying just now. Please, sweetheart…I pour my heart out to you. Can’t you trust me enough to share a little of what’s bothering you?”

So, she did. She told him about Grandpa Hoster and his illness and her guilt over wishing him dead. She told him about the silent house and the anxiety and worry that smothered them all like a heavy, unwanted blanket for many long months.

She told him about Joffrey and the mental and occasional physical abuse she endured in silence because their fathers had been best friends, all while her grandfather was dying and her mother was withering away trying to care for him and everyone else.

He had been saddened to hear of her grandfather’s illness, especially now that she was having to experience it again with his father. And he’d been infuriated by Joffrey’s treatment of her. She preferred his anger to pity though.

“I was the good one. My siblings all found their way to rebel but I did everything my parents wanted. I was the perfect daughter. They needed our support. I didn’t want to cause either of them more worry,” she said. She let out a shaky breath and said, “But Joffrey made me feel so worthless. I hated myself back then.”

She told him about the accident and the man Joffrey killed and being hospitalized while her grandfather was being buried. She showed him the scars on her abdomen from the emergency surgery she’d went through to stop the internal bleeding. She told him of her mother’s mental breakdown afterwards and her father’s struggle to hold it all together.

“Is she…is your mom still…”

“She’s better now. She’s much better. At least that’s what my dad says…and Arya.”

“They love you, Sansa. I’m sure of it. How could they not? Why do you avoid them? Avoid speaking of them?”

“Dad…he finally had his own sort of breakdown before I left for college. Things were really bad for us both. People say I look just like my mom but I’m like my dad in many ways. We try to shoulder our burdens silently and carry on even when we’re sinking. I was in therapy but I was just playing along. I wasn’t really listening to any of it. One night, Dad had too much to drink and I was being bitchy. We fought. It was like a dam had burst. He blamed me for Mom’s breakdown. He said my accident pushed her over the edge.”

“It wasn’t your fault. That wasn’t fair of him to…”

“He was hurting, too, Jon.”

“Still…that was completely unfair to blame you. You were just a girl struggling with all kinds of pain and guilt and to be blamed like that…”

“He apologized. He’s apologized repeatedly since then. I was just too ashamed to go back after…”

“After what?” She shook her head. Should she keep talking? She avoided his eyes and started looking around her apartment. There was food on the counter to eat. Wine to drink. She wanted to talk and laugh and hold hands like they did so often at night. She wanted to watch late night talk shows and fall asleep on the loveseat next to Jon the way she had the other night. “Sansa?” he prompted breaking in on her desire to escape this. “Did you try to hurt yourself?”

Her mouth parted in surprise and she shivered. _How could he know?_ She gasped and clutched her chest before nodding at last and meeting his eyes with her own.

“I didn’t want to die. I just wanted to disappear,” she whispered.

He tried to hold her again but she resisted this time. She wanted to get this out now. Maybe it would be better to get it out at this point. She’d said so much already. Why not give him the rest? He’d asked for it, hadn’t he?

“How?” he asked.

“The car…the garage. My little brother…Rickon found me. He didn’t realize anything was wrong. He came out to the garage and opened the door so he could ride his bike. He complained about the fumes. I hadn’t been there but maybe five minutes. Turns out our lower emission vehicles really slow things down with the…” she trailed off from her lame joke. He didn’t laugh. It wasn’t funny. “Rickon went to get my dad. He realized what I was doing. I spent the next two weeks in the hospital psych ward. By the time college started, I’d convinced them all I was better and left for school. I _am_ better now…but I’ve avoided going home since then.”

Jon pulled her back into his arms and this time she did not resist. She let herself cry again, for the pain of the past and the girl she’d once been.

“I’m so sorry, sweet girl,” he whispered later as he still held her even though she was calm again.

“Jon, your father’s friendship has meant so much to me. I don’t know why I couldn’t really connect with anyone here until I met your dad.”

“I’m no psych major but my guess is you were seeking a father figure, a friend who could act as a surrogate dad, too.”

She nodded. It seemed to make sense. “You mean a lot to me, Jon. What am I seeking with you?”

“I…I’m not…” he stuttered.

He was so very dear trying to fight it, to be that honorable man that didn’t want more from this. Sansa was tired of fighting it though. She leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips at last, those sensuous lips she’d thought about since she’d met him. She pulled back and waited for his reaction. If he wanted to jump up and leave, she’d let him.

But he just stared at her and asked, “Are you sure?” He was trembling with need now but Jon still asked first…just as she knew he would.

“I am,” she replied just before her eyes closed and he kissed her back.

 

* * *

 

 

The rain pattered against the window pane and the thunder rolled off in the distance. And in the early morning light, he reached for her once more. She grumbled in her sleep, making him smile.

_“Are you sleeping with her?”_

_“No!”_

_“Not yet anyway.”_

Jon shook off the previous morning’s conversation and pulled her to him. _‘If loving you is wrong, I don’t want to be right,’_ he hummed to himself. He kissed his way across her back towards her shoulder, his beard lightly tickling her tender flesh until he heard her inhale deeply and sigh.

“Hey,” she said softly as she rolled over to face him. “What time is it?”

He’d like to say it was still night and they had more time here like this but dawn crept through the blinds. The rain that had lasted all night could not disguise the brightening room. The fiery auburn of her hair was muted and her eyes looked more silver than blue but she was gorgeous and he knew he’d never tire of just staring at her like this.

“Early,” he said. “Sorry I woke you.” _Not sorry_.

Her mouth quirked into a cheeky smile and she said, “You’re not sorry.”

He grinned in response. Sansa could call bullshit from a thousand paces and he loved that about her. She leaned forward to kiss him and he was already hard knowing where that would lead.

Sansa’s lips were the sweetest he’d ever tasted. Her warm, wet mouth as inviting as the wet heat of her cunt. Her kisses so full of passion.

They’d had sex on the loveseat the first time. It was hot and eager and over too quickly. He hadn’t even let her pull her shorts and undies off. He’d just nudged them to the side before sinking into her with a groan of heavenly deliverance.

They’d eaten the cold Indian food and drank the bottle of wine after and then they’d moved to her bed.

He’d fucked Sansa hard and fast as she rode his cock the second time and then spooned her sweet and languidly the third. He’d clung to her still panting after that and felt his chest ache and expand. How could he be this fucking content? His dad was still dying. Sansa had been through hell. Shouldn’t he still be hurting? He wasn’t though…not right now.

The sex was one thing. It’d been a while but he’d never imagined how needful he’d been for that release of his pent-up frustration and desire. And he was thrilled by how much she seemed to want it, too. But as he lay there next to her trying to catch his breath as he snuggled his little spoon close to his chest, he realized he was also happy, _really_ happy…fucking delirious with happiness. Not even when things were at their best with Ygritte had he been this happy.

 _Am I going to feel like shit when I come crashing back to Earth?_ he wondered.

He knew he was drowning himself in her. His grief and regrets…sinking into her arms and into her body was like an absolution. Maybe it was temporary. Pain still waited for him when his head rose above the surface again but he didn’t care. Not if he could have her like this. He could face anything if her arms would still welcome him into her home…into her bed at night.

“Jon…” she cried as she arched her back, pushing her breasts forward.

He dipped his head at once to capture a nipple between his lips, licking and nibbling tenderly until he heard her moan. Sansa loved attention to her breasts he’d quickly learned. He had always tried to be an attentive lover and he wanted nothing so much as to please Sansa over and over. She loved attention to all her erogenous zones but she seemed to like for him to start with her breasts.

He moved one of his arms up and under the pillow and his free hand slowly slid down her side to her hip. He tucked his thumb under the drawstring waistband of the lounge pants she wore as he moved from one breast to the other.

Sansa’s free hand came down from gripping his hair to grip his cock instead that was already straining against the boxers he’d thrown on after they’d had sex the last time. Her small hand pumped him through the soft cotton and he groaned around a stiff nipple, catching it gently with his teeth before laving it with his tongue some more. Her hand came off him for a second and he could tell she was untying the drawstring. His hand moved from her waist down to her sex at once, cupping her mound and sliding a finger along her slick folds as her hand returned to his cock. He dipped a finger inside…sopping wet and he didn’t think he could get any harder.

He rolled her to her back and shoved his boxers down just past his hips, spreading her legs and so eager to be inside her again that she had to help him with his boxers as he yanked her pants off. He didn’t even hesitate to relish the anticipation a moment longer. He plunged into her like a desperate man, filling her and hearing her gasp at the sudden invasion.

“Sansa…” he pled, hoping she was alright while begging to keep going.

“Yes,” she whispered as her hands wound through his hair again. “God, Jon…don’t stop.”

“Fuck, no…I won’t,” he swore as his hips began to thrust.

Later, as they were both still shuddering with their release, he stroked her face and kissed her lips.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I really should get home to check on Dad.”

“I know,” she said. “I’ll see you later, right?”

“At the shop or here?” he asked with what was surely a dopey grin.

“Both, I hope,” she replied lightly tracing his face with her fingers.

He keened to her touch and kissed her palm. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the angst! At least there was some smut. This wasn't supposed to be such along fic but sometimes the story takes me further than I thought I'd go. Thanks for all of you who are reading this :)
> 
> Lyrics from 'One of These Nights' by the Eagles. And a shout out to Luther Ingram's 'If Loving You is Wrong (I Don't Want to Be Right).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after and the night of Sansa's recital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning-I may have made myself cry writing this chapter.

_‘My gift is my song,_

_And this one’s for you’_

 

It was already after seven that morning when Jon stole into the house as though he really feared he might disturb his father’s slumber. Naturally, Rhaegar was already up, sitting in the kitchen in his pajamas and slippers and reading the paper with his bifocals perched on his nose while drinking his coffee.

Jon was tempted to slink past the doorway and see if he could escape notice, thinking he’d prefer to be showered and in different clothes when he faced his father. But the heady aroma of Rhaegar’s strong coffee and the homey domesticity of the little kitchen lit up with morning sunshine lured Jon into facing this inevitable conversation sooner rather than later.

“Morning, Dad,” he called walking in. He quickly winched at how chipper it had sounded. Jon Targaryen was not a morning person and his father was well aware of it. _I sound just like a guy that got laid last night…more than once…and again this morning._

He pulled his favored mug down from the cabinet and poured his coffee. He was wearing yesterday’s clothes but for an instant he wondered if his dad would think he’d just got up.

“I heard your car pull up,” Rhaegar said, peering over the paper at him now and raking him from head to foot with his eyes.

 _Okay, so much for that_. “Yeah…uh, Dad…”

“Top me off, would ya?” his father asked indicating his own mug.

“Sure.” Jon poured his father’s coffee and finished fixing his own before joining him at the table. “Did you eat, Dad?”

“No.”

“I could fix some eggs or…”

“I can’t eat until later. Got some tests this morning.”

Jon felt a momentary sense of panic. _Did he have an appointment that I forgot? No, I don’t think so_. He scratched his head and finally asked, “What appointment?”

“They just wanted to see me back again and run a few more tests. Nothing to worry over. I called Jonny yesterday and asked him to take me. We’ve got a meeting today with that potential buyer anyway. Sansa’s got school this morning and you’ll need to open the shop.”

Jon felt an irrational stab of jealousy and anger. He’d come all this way to help his dad but now his dad wanted Connington’s help, not only with the sale of the business but to take him to his appointment, too. It stung though Jon knew it was petty of him. And then the fact that there were more tests all the sudden, tests his father had not mentioned, was worrying him, too.

“So, Connington and you have someone all lined up then?” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice but knew he had failed when his father smirked at him.

“That’s right. Look, Jon…the guy is a friend of his so it made sense for him to help out with this.”

“And you think Connington will get you a good deal from his friend?”

“The place isn’t exactly a gold mine but he’s offering a fair price. You’ll get whatever I clear off it anyway.”

“I’m not interested because of that! I’m not here for money, Dad.”

“I know that, son. But it’ll be yours all the same soon enough,” his father said sadly.

Jon sipped his coffee and tried to mind his temper. They hadn’t even addressed Sansa and him spending the night with her at all. His father was busy throwing him curveballs and Jon felt ridiculous for his juvenile jealousy over his father’s friend.

He was drained from everything Sansa had shared last night. He was happy and happy that she’d shared those things with him but since he'd left her place, he'd started to feel overwrought from all the emotion last night. In fact, he could tell his emotions were still running at a high pitch…no matter how many times he’d gotten laid last night. And he was physically exhausted, too.

“Hand me the obits, would ya?” his father asked the next moment pointing at the section of the paper still sitting on the counter. Jon grabbed it and handed it over as he sat back down. “Thanks. I like to see which fuckers I’ve outlived,” Rhaegar said with a dour chuckle.

Jon’s lips twitched and he nearly laughed but his chest felt too tight and the sound that escaped wasn’t a laugh. It wasn’t a chuckle or a guffaw or a snicker either. It was a sob. His face crumpled with grief and he dropped his head into his folded arms on the kitchen table, wishing he’d headed straight to the shower when he got home after all. He heard Rhaegar’s chair scrape back across the linoleum floor and then felt a hand on top of his head, softly stroking his hair.

“Hey, don’t let my dumbass sense of humor get you down, buddy.”

His father had not called him ‘buddy’ since he was ten and it made Jon cry harder. His father kept stroking his hair with one hand while another rested on his shoulder. He couldn’t look up at him. He was ashamed of his tears. He didn’t want his father to watch him cry. He didn’t want to cry when he wasn’t the one that was dying. It didn’t stop him though and Rhaegar stood right there. He thought such a display would make his old man uncomfortable but apparently not.

As the shuddering sobs began to ease up at last, his father smiled and said, “Christ, Jon…if I was your age and just spent the night with a beautiful girl like Sansa, I don’t think I’d be crying.”

It made him laugh. “You knew it’d happen, didn’t you?” he asked, peeking up with a sheepish grin. _At least the cat’s out of the bag now_.

“I saw the way you two were getting closer. And spending time at a lady’s apartment at night…alone? Well, I’m not that old, Jon. No need to be down about it though.”

“You do make a good point there,” Jon smiled, while clearing his throat and wiping his face. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

“For what? Don’t tell me you’re sorry about Sansa.”

“I’m not. Last night…I didn’t intend for it to happen when I went over there but she was upset when I arrived. I pushed her to open up…not too much,” he explained when his father looked concerned. “I just wanted for her to…she was hurting and I wanted to be there for her like she’s been for me. And she finally just let it all out. She told me a lot of stuff about her past and her family. It was heavy and emotional to say the least. And then we kind of got caught up in the moment and we…”

“I think I can figure it out from there.”

“I really do care about her though.”

“Do you love her?”

“I think…maybe. I’ve only known her a month or so. Is it too soon to say that I might? Can you really love someone that quickly? I mean, Ygritte and I had known each other for nearly a year and had already been sleeping together for six months before we started calling it love.”

“I fell in love with your mother in the space of two hours when we first met. When I left for the army, I still knew exactly how many words had passed between us…not that many. I didn’t sleep with her until after I returned. We’d shared no more than a kiss when I got on the bus to go to Basic. But I loved her and thought about her every day.”

“I never saw you as a romantic,” Jon said, trying to picture his parents, young and in love.

“Uh…I play the harp, Jon,” his father said wryly.

“Touché.”

They sat there smiling at each other. Jon couldn’t remember how long it’d been since they’d talked like this. _Likely never. I was just a kid the last time we talked this much and we_ _didn’t talk about women then. Try not to ruin it now_ , he thought. But curiosity won out and he couldn’t help asking.

“Dad…what happened? With you and Mom?”

“I’m sure she told you all about it,” his father said dismissively.

“Yeah, I got her version but I want yours. You got divorced when I was thirteen but you’d been fighting for years by then. And you kind of dropped out of sight on me for a while.”

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to hurt you as well. I thought you were better off with your mother.”

“I needed my father, too.”

“I wasn’t the best at being dad though, was I?”

“You weren’t perfect but who is? You did alright.”

“You didn’t think so when you were in high school.” Jon grimaced to remember the stupid and cruel words he’s spoken to his father in those days. “I guess I was okay when you were little at least.”

“You were,” Jon said.

He wondered if Rhaegar would shut down and not answer. He didn’t have it in him this morning to fight for someone else to share with him. But he didn’t have to it turned out. Maybe his dad had wanted to talk about it after all.

“You know your mom was young when we met. She was still in high school when I joined up. She’d just graduated when I got my medical discharge and we married right away. God, there was so much passion between us then but it wasn’t easy. I think the sex kept us from killing each other that first year. She had married much younger than most of her friends and I think she quickly realized she was missing out on the freedom they were busy enjoying. I was barely making anything with my music then. My injuries from the war kept me from more regular work at the time. We fought over money…a lot. It’s stressful for a young couple, not being able to make ends meet. It’s stressful for any couple.”

Rhaegar had looked somber as he talked but then his face lightened.

“And then she got pregnant. And I thought, ‘we can do this.’ I was so happy. We both were. My music was getting some attention and we bought the house and waited for you to be born.” A cloud covered his features again though and he said, “But then your mother nearly died giving birth to you.”

“What?!”

“I figured she never told you that. I wouldn’t have either but I guess it doesn’t hurt for you to know now. She came through but for several long hours, I prayed and I worried and I thought I’d lose you both. But then you came out perfect, squalling with a mop of curly hair already. Lyanna recovered and soon acted as though it had been the easiest thing. They say some mothers have amnesia about the pain of child birth once the baby comes. But I didn’t forget. The worry and pain of nearly losing her stuck with me.”

“I didn’t know,” Jon said suddenly feeling guilty.

“It wasn’t your fault, son.” Rhaegar took his mug to the sink and turned back around to face him. “The medical bills were high. I started taking gigs out of town for more money. And things started to… _cool_ between your mother and me. You were our bright spot though. We loved sharing you. Like any first-time parents, we thought everything you did was amazing or funny, whether you were taking your first steps, babbling or farting.” Jon covered his eyes and laughed. “But when I was on the road, it was kind of easy to feel care free again, you know? Not thinking about the mortgage or colic or the shitty old car that needed repairs again. I was with my buddies doing what I loved but your mom was stuck at home being a mom. I don’t mean for that to sound so terrible. She loved you, Jon. She loved you with all her heart…but she was lonely and blamed me. I guess she had that right.”

“Did you…did you cheat on her?” Jon asked, afraid of the answer.

“Is that what she told you?”

“No but…I heard her once when I was around fifteen talking to a friend.” Jon dropped his eyes and said, “She mentioned your love affair and said it had come between you.”

“She meant the road. I never cheated on your mother, son. There were lots of women out there but I never looked at any woman but Lyanna. She told me…she said I loved my music more than you two. She said I loved the road and performing more than I ever loved her. I swore I didn’t. I gave up performing. I bought the shop to try and prove that I wanted nothing more than to come home to you and her each night.”

“But you resented it.”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. I loved playing for a live audience. I loved seeing faces enjoy my music and hearing applause for something I’d done. But I liked the shop well enough. Look, it’s not like things went from shitty to shittier. We had our ups and downs. We were happy as clams when you were five and at each other’s throats when you were six. But around the time you turned eight…things were pretty good and she told me she wanted another baby. I…I was afraid…she almost died, you know?”

“You told her you didn’t want another child.”

“Yeah. That was the beginning of our end. Lyanna was hurt and angry about that and I was nursing resentment over not performing anymore. Anyway, when we split for good, she was able to move on. She made new friends and devoted herself to you. She was a great mom, a great lady. And I just sunk deeper and deeper into self-pity and grew more and more distant…from you and everyone else in my life.”

They sat there quietly for a while. Rhaegar was lost in his memories and Jon was lost in his own guilty reflections.

“I was a shit to you, Dad. I know I was when I was a teen and said…”

“Jon…most of us are shits from time to time, especially as teenagers,” his father said with a chuckle. “It never stopped me from loving you.” He patted his arm and said, “Come on, I gotta get ready. Jonny will be here soon.”

Jon helped his father up the stairs so he could get changed before Connington showed up to take him to his appointment and their meeting. He was almost out of his father’s bedroom when Rhaegar called him back.

“Hey, Jon.”

“Yeah, Dad?” he said poking his head back in the door.

“No screwing around at the shop. If I catch you trying to feel her up in the back room, you’re fired…after I punch you,” his father said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Very funny…asshole,” he replied amiably before heading off to his own room and his shower.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa had been happy waking up next Jon that morning. She’d been happy while they’d made love. But once he’d left, fear and doubt started to plague her. Worse, the guilt came. Even with the passing of time, Sansa still struggled with feelings of guilt when she allowed herself to be happy. There was this sense that she didn’t deserve to enjoy those feelings like normal people.

Therapy had helped with that at least and she actively sought to put those feelings away and remind herself she deserved happiness and comfort…and love…or whatever it was Jon could give her.

And yet she’d ignored his texts while she was at school. The self-doubt made her wonder what a guy like Jon could want from her other than her body. The fear made her dread being weak again when he hurt her…when he left her.

But now it was time to go to the shop and he’d be there. She carried her music notebook in with her, holding it across her chest like a shield for her heart.

_What am I afraid of? That he’ll walk up this morning and tell me it was all a mistake? That he’s going to say I’ve got too much baggage for him to handle right now and he can’t be with me? If he was the sort of guy that could do that, he wouldn’t be Jon._

He was with a customer when she walked in so she gave him a quick smile and rushed off to the back. Her intention was to put her things away and hurry back out front where customers were a good excuse, a barrier, that could keep questions and talk at bay.

It wasn’t that she regretted what they’d done or what she’d shared last night. But she was like a raw nerve, exposed now. She missed her walls, too. They sucked and they had blocked out love and friendship and so many positive things in her life for so long. But they had blocked a lot of negative things too and she was used to them. And last night, a wrecking ball had knocked them all down. It was like being caught outside and realizing you’d forgotten to get dressed.

Instead of heading back up front, she lingered in the back, looking over Rhaegar’s music she’d been practicing. Her recital was tomorrow night and Jon and Rhaegar would both be there. She wanted to perform the piece that Rhaegar had written for Jon but not at the recital. It was personal. It should be shared with them and them alone.

_Just like your secrets. You don’t want all the world to know them, just the people that matter._

And now she was worrying that she had no right to share it, no right to take it from the file cabinet in the first place. Maybe she should just put it back and forget she’d ever laid eyes on it.

But when she thought of Jon and what the next several months would bring, she couldn’t. What if he was going through his father’s personal affects six months or a year from now and ran across the piece? What if he spent the rest of his life wondering why his father had written it and why he’d never shared it with him? Wouldn’t it be better if he could hear it when his father was there with him?

And then, Sansa thought of a potentially more tragic scenario. What if it got tossed out without Jon ever noticing it? What if he overlooked the scrawl across the top and just trashed it without ever knowing that his father had poured his soul into something for him?

“Hey,” he said from behind her.

She spun around and wiped her eyes, clutching the piece to her heart. He looked concerned…and hurt. She could see it in his eyes. She’d ignored his texts. She’d run to the back as soon as she got here and been hiding out. She was crying now and he didn’t know the reason.

“Sansa,” he said miserably, “if you regret last night…”

“I don’t. That’s not it. I swear, it’s not that.” She crossed to him, touched his face and gave him smile. There had been weeks of her life when it had seemed an enormous trial to give a real smile. She found that it took no extra effort to smile for Jon. “I’m sorry I didn’t respond. I was…I started doubting this morning and I was feeling confused and guilty and all those things I need to work past. None of which is your fault. But now that I’m with you, I’m okay. I was getting a little emotional just now over something else is all.”

He sighed deeply and smiled at her. “Okay. What have you got there?” he asked pointing at the paper in her hand.

“It’s for you…but it’s not from me.”

“What does that mean?” he asked laughing. He tried to reach for it and she held it over her head.

“Soon but not now. I need to talk to your dad about something. Is he coming in today?”

“He should be here in a bit.”

“Does he know about us? About…”

“Yeah, he figured that out when I walked in the house this morning. Don’t worry over that.”

“Was he…okay with it? Did you fight?”

“He was okay. We didn’t fight. We…we had a good talk this morning. Maybe the best talk we’ve ever had.” Sansa was glad of that but she started to chew her bottom lip wondering what they’d talked about. “I didn’t tell him anything that you shared with me. I just said that you opened up to me about a lot of things last night. I hope that’s okay.”

“It is.”

“Do you regret opening up to me though?”

“No…not really. I was way overdue to have a heart to heart with someone. I’m glad it was you.” He pulled her in his arms and kissed her chastely on the lips then. She melted into his kiss, savoring it, before she continued. “It’s more like a security blanket has been torn away from me now, you know? I felt…”

“Vulnerable?”

“Exactly. I was okay being vulnerable with you but I need time before I can be that way again with someone else.”

“I understand. But Sansa…anything you want to share with me…I’m always ready to listen to you.”

“Thank you, Jon.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Is this alright?” Sansa asked when the young man showed them to the patio table. “It’s not too hot for you out here, is it? We could always sit inside but it seemed chilly in there.” She squinted next and said, “Is it too sunny for you?”

He bit the inside of his cheek…to keep from laughing. If anyone else tried to talk to him like an invalid over whether or not they should sit on the patio at a restaurant, he would probably blow his top. But not Sansa. He might bark a bit but he’d never bite when it came to her.

“This is fine,” he said with authority to the host who handed them their menus and departed.

He watched her fuss with her bag and then stare at the menu while rapping her fingers on the table. She started rearranging the packets of sweeteners on the table and then began toying with her hair that she’d worn in a long braid over her shoulder today. It reminded Rhaegar of a rope…a rope of living flame. She then started asking if there were enough options for him to choose from and asked if they should go somewhere else.

And while she looked lovely as always, he could tell she was nervous. He wanted to tell her not to be. He wasn’t her father and she wasn’t a child. And while there was a slight feeling of awkwardness when the thought crossed his mind that she and Jon had started sleeping together, he held no strong objection to it. He only wanted them to be careful. He didn’t want to see either of them hurt.

Jon was a grown man but Rhaegar knew he had a loving heart, one that had been trampled on in past relationships. Jon was headstrong like his mother at times but also quick to hide hurt feelings and grow broody or morose like Rhaegar himself.

And Sansa…whatever pain she’d had in the past, Rhaegar didn’t need specifics to see it was still with her in many ways. She was happier and more open than she’d been when they first met but his illness was weighing her down. He hoped this new involvement with Jon, that engaging in a sexual relationship with his son, would not do any more harm. He hoped that they could help each other. He secretly hoped that they would love each other.

 _What a romantic fool you still are, Targaryen_.

He couldn’t help that. Lyanna had always said it was his music and his romantic nature that had lured her in. It was such a part of who he was and yet he’d grown crustier and crustier as the years of bitter disappointments and heart break had taken their toll. It still didn’t stop him from staring at this beautiful young woman with a sweet, pure soul and wondering what his grandchildren would look like with her as their mother. He prayed that such a possibility existed for them…even if he would never get to hold any grandchild of his in his lifetime.

 _Red hair, grey eyes…a girl? Black hair, blue eyes…a boy? Who can say? Perhaps more than one, a carbon copy of each_.

Sansa was fussing over his drink napkin now and nearly knocked it in his lap.

“So, are you going to tell me why I’m such a lucky bastard today?” he asked at last.

“Huh?” she asked while trying to wipe up the soda that had sloshed out.

“How come a gorgeous girl like you is taking an old guy like me out to lunch?”

He wasn’t sure why she’d asked to take him to lunch. She’d drove but he’d be paying no matter what she had said. She was still in school and he was far too old-fashioned to let a young lady buy him lunch. He had waited until the server had taken their food and drink order but it was time to get to the bottom of this…before Sansa started trying to cut his steak for him or something.

“Oh! I just wanted to spend a little time with you. We haven’t got to see each other much the past few days.”

“Sansa…we see each other nearly every day and we have never had lunch before. What is it, honey? Did Jon say or do something to upset you earlier?” he asked next. “Because, I can still kick his ass if…”

“No! No,” she laughed once she realized he was joking. _Partly joking._ “No, I just…Jon said you had an appointment today that you hadn’t told him about.”

“I did.” He didn’t want to delve into that here and now but a little honesty might help get her to play along and tell him what was eating at her. “The doc didn’t like some of my results from the other day. They wanted to give me another once over.”

“But it was okay today?”

“Yeah…all good.” _The test was a breeze. Just had to lay still there for them. So that was all good. But the results aren’t in_.

“Oh, that’s good to hear.”

“It doesn’t change anything, Sansa.”

“I know. I just worry.”

“I know you do. So, are you going to tell me the real reason we’re here now?”

She looked like a rabbit caught in a trap. He wanted to tell her never mind rather than see her looking so skittish. But her expression soon cleared and she said, “You and Jon are a lot alike. You both seem to know when I’m holding back.”

_It’s not that hard, honey. You don’t hide your pain nearly as well as you think you do._

“What are you holding back?”

“Rhaegar…you know how I’ve been going through your old file cabinets?”

“Yeah,” he said as the server sat his steak down in front of him.

He liked to think he might be able to enjoy it, might be able to keep it down. _Might be wishful thinking_ , he decided as he cut into the ribeye and waited to hear what Sansa was getting at.

“I found some music you had written,” she said softly.

He looked up from his steak and found those clear blue eyes on him, fear and curiosity equally mixed.

 _Oh…that. Shit_ , he thought with a sigh as he sat down his fork.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon had gone back over to her place last night. She’d called and told him she was making dinner and they’d sat together at the bar of her little kitchen holding hands while they ate. It had made eating a bit awkward but he preferred holding her hand to not.

Afterwards, they’d talked about their day and his father. “What’d you two talk about when you went to lunch today?”

“Music,” she’d said with an enigmatic smile.

“Well, do I get to know anything more than that?” he’d asked with a raised eyebrow.

“All in good time,” she’d replied.

Jon had asked if she wanted him to stay or go after. She’d looked shocked at the suggestion, as though there wasn’t an option. At first, he’d been flattered to think she wanted him to stay…and wanted _him_. But then, another thought crossed his mind.

“Sansa?” She had already started taking off her clothes and he wanted to get this off his chest and clear before she was completely bare and all rational thought went out the window. “I don’t want you to think that I expect sex when I come over here.” A thoughtful expression crossed her face and she'd looked down at her hands. “You thought that, didn’t you?” She’d shrugged her shoulders and then nodded. “I won’t _ever_ pressure you for sex. I do want to make love to you tonight. God, I can’t lie and pretend that I don’t but I will _never_ force you or make you feel like it’s an obligation. Okay?”

“I’m still learning,” she’d whispered before she hugged him tightly. “I’m not used to that…Joffrey didn’t ever make me feel like it was my choice.”

“Well, you’re not with that shit anymore,” he’d growled returning her hug with equal force and affection. “He won’t _ever_ touch you again. You’re with me now and…” he'd finished uncertainly.

The question had hung in the air between them. _How long am I going to be with you?_

“It’s alright,” she’d said reading his troubled thoughts. “Today…talking to your dad reminded me that past experiences and future worries should not keep us from enjoying the present. And Jon…tonight, I want to enjoy us.” He’d leaned his forehead against hers and shuddered. It was marvelous and scary the way she shook him to his core. “Soooo…how about sex?” she’d asked playfully.

He'd laughed and said, “Yes, please…sex, sex, SEX! With you, my sexy girl!”

He’d chased her to her bedroom then and helped her remove her bra as they started kissing.

“Jon?” she'd murmured in his ear as she started to pull his shirt over his head.

“Yeah?”

“I like being with you…no matter what we do.”

“Me, too, sweetheart…no matter what we do, I’m happy just being with you.”

 

* * *

 

 

The night of the recital arrived and Jon scrutinized himself in the mirror. He really wished he’d brought something with him to wear besides jeans, ratty flannels and t-shirts. Dressing up wasn’t required for this but he would’ve liked to look nice for Sansa. His father had already headed downstairs wearing a suit.

He’d told Jon to hustle up as they would need to swing by the florist to buy a bouquet to give Sansa after it was over. _Why didn’t I think of that?_

“And we should stop by the bakery to get a dessert for after dinner,” Rhaegar called from downstairs as Jon changed shirts again. “Hurry up for Christ’s sake! I want to get a decent seat!”

“Okay! I’m coming,” Jon called back.

Sansa had invited them both back to her place after the recital for dinner. Jon had the sneaking suspicion her father was already in on some plan with the way he’d immediately accepted and offered to bring a dessert.

The Music Department’s concert hall was bustling with families and music students and again Jon couldn’t help but feel bad that Sansa’s family wasn’t here. He remembered these sorts of events from college. They were a big deal to the musician. His mother had never missed one and Rhaegar had tried to come despite the distance between them then. To think her family had never seen her perform made him angry at them. Even if she’d avoided them, why did they avoid her, too?

_You don’t know everything. You don’t know their side of things. Well, maybe I’d like to. Maybe I’d like to ask Ned Stark why the fuck he couldn’t drive down here and say his ‘I love you’ in person for a change. If I had a daughter that I knew was hurting, could I leave her alone like this for three goddamn years?_

He didn’t think he could but he feared acting too high and mighty. He was as prone to human weakness and selfishness as anybody. Hadn’t his own father avoided him for large chunks of his adolescence? Jon had made his anger and resentment known more than once in his teens. Was it any surprise Rhaegar stayed away after a while? Maybe he shouldn’t have. But if Sansa made her family feel as unwelcome as Jon had likely made his father feel, perhaps it was a reason…even if it wasn’t a very good one.

She was beautiful up on the stage. Her hair was braided and pulled into a bun. She was wearing a navy-blue dress and her lips were painted red.

She took a seat at the piano and played her own compositions as required and then a piece by Haydn. Her music was beguiling. There was an ethereal quality to the first passage that reminded Jon of a bird in flight, uncaged and free. The second passage was fierce, strong and sure. But the conclusion was gentle and soft, like watching snow fall. He sat there listening to it amazed by her talent. Not that he had doubted it but he was enraptured all the same.

Watching her, listening to her play and thinking on all the words they had said these past few weeks…and the feel of her in his arms. Jon thought of his father’s question.

_“Do you love her?”_

_“I think…maybe,”_ he’d replied. _I think…yes_ , he thought now.

“You were brilliant,” his father said when they found her in the crowded hall afterwards.

“Thank you!” she cried with pleasure as Rhaegar handed her the bouquet of roses Jon had ran into the florist to fetch. “I can’t thank you both enough for coming. It meant a lot to know you both were here for me.”

She hugged his father but then turned to face Jon. “You’re amazing, Sansa,” he whispered in her ear, thinking his heart could not possibly stretch any more as she hugged him, too.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. She kissed his cheek and asked, “Who’s hungry?”

 

* * *

 

Her apartment was fragrant with the smell of the roast she’d put in the slow-cooker earlier that day. She heated up the oven for the French bread and told them to get comfortable while she changed out of her dress.

Jon half expected to see her come out of her bedroom in her lounge pants and tight tee like she usually did for him but when she returned she was in grey leggings and a soft purple tunic. She’d taken her hair back down and it was wavy from the braided bun. It looked like waves of silky fire and Jon longed to run his fingers through it.

They sat and enjoyed their meal. The three of them talked of music and Sansa’s recital. Rhaegar spoke of the buyer that he had come to an agreement with on a price.

Jon felt a pang of remorse to think of the shop being run by someone other than his dad. But his father wouldn’t be there to run it forever and Jon knew it wasn’t what he wanted to do with his own life…not now anyway. He loved what he did for a living. He wondered what Sansa’s plans were past graduation. She had enough credits and would finish in August, she’d told him the other night. She was almost done. Jon knew it was foolish to get carried away but the thought of her possibly joining him when he returned home again had already crossed his mind a time or two.

But then he’d think of Rhaegar. He didn’t want to return home just yet. Not when there was still time to be had with his father. He wouldn’t have believed himself capable of feeling that way six weeks ago and now…he couldn’t imagine running off while his father still breathed. He’d promised his father three months but knew now that he wouldn’t be leaving him. He would not scurry away until things were finished now. He had stayed by his mother’s side until the end. He would do that for his father, too.

And with no wife or siblings or even aunts or uncles for Jon to lean on at this time, he was all the more grateful for Sansa.

“Sansa,” his father said interrupting Jon’s musings, “that was wonderful but I get worn out kind of early so…”

“Yes! Right!” she said jumping up from the table. “Jon…that can wait a bit,” she said as he had started carrying dishes to the sink. “Come and have a seat, please.”

He sat on the loveseat by himself, confused by their apparent nervousness. Sansa sat down at the piano and pulled out some music. He smiled to think she was going to play for him but it was his father who spoke.

“First of all,” his father said gruffly. “I never meant to keep this from you. It was written for your birthday, the year your mom and I got divorced. I wanted to play it for you but…I got to feeling down and your mom said you wanted to go do paintball with your friends and I…I wound up missing your birthday that year. I avoided it actually. I hated not seeing you every day but I was already trying to tell myself it was best just to let you be.”

His father’s eyes had started to fill with tears and Jon felt like he couldn’t draw a proper breath.

“I wanted to give it to you every year after that. ‘His birthday,’ I’d tell myself. ‘By Christmas for certain.’ Any old time would’ve been fine really…but I never did. I was afraid that you wouldn’t like it and maybe wouldn’t understand how much I…I thought of you every day. I did a poor job of showing it…but I loved you and thought of you every day.”

His father looked at Sansa as she wiped her eyes.

“Things just got more tense between us as the years passed and I buried this in a drawer the day we buried your mother. Things were at their worst between us and I thought I’d lost my boy for good after the fight we had that night so I…” Rhaegar couldn’t continue the sentence and Jon closed his eyes and let the tears slide down his face. “Anyway, this wonderful girl found it and has been working on it for a couple of weeks now in secret to surprise us both. I really hope you like it, Jon. I wrote it for you because I love you…I love you so very much.”

His father wiped his face and cleared his throat. He started to sit beside him but then said, “But if you hate it, I just want to remind you that this was all Sansa’s idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from 'Your Song' by Elton John.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon listens to the music his father composed for him and reflects on his feelings for his father and Sansa.
> 
> This chapter is more Jon and Sansa centered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things-
> 
> First, some of you wonderful commenters had mentioned looking forward to 'hearing' Rhaegar's music. I realized later some of you might have meant lyrics. Well, there aren't any lyrics because Rhaegar is a composer like Bach or Beethoven. He's not a songwriter or lyricist. It can be easy to confuse the two things though so I apologize if any of you are disappointed that there are no lyrics for the piece 'For Jon.'
> 
> Second, just a reminder of the tags as Sansa will have some brief memories of her abusive, sexual relationship with Joffrey during this chapter.

_‘Someone like you makes it hard to live without_

_Somebody else_

_Someone like you makes it easy to give_

_Never think about myself’_

 

 

Jon sat on Sansa’s loveseat and focused on the music as much as possible while trying not to bawl his eyes out.

His father’s music was beautiful. He’d never known that his father was such a gifted composer to be honest. _So many things I didn’t bother to learn or know about him at all_.

And the fact that his father had composed this with him in mind and during such a painful period of their lives made it that much more difficult to keep his composure.

The melody itself was both bitter and sweet. It was underscored with regret and longing. The notes haunting but lovely, making the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up while Sansa played and played.

He was astounded by the memories that were invoked by music he had never heard before in his life.

 _But I did hear a little of it. That night I came over and she was playing when I arrived_.

There were no words. His father was no lyricist. He played the harp and composed music. But then the three of them were musicians and no words were needed for music to move their hearts and souls.

Jon remembered being thirteen, the year Rhaegar said he had written this. He remembered how the hurt and anger over his parents’ divorce nearly overwhelmed him at times.

His mother had tried very hard to make the transition as normal as possible but he’d harbored so much bitterness and pain. He was ashamed of how he’d lashed out at her at times but mostly it was his father that he had saved his rage for, the one he thought he hated, the one he’d blamed for tearing his world apart whether it was completely true or not.

This music though…it was like a gentle affirmation that his father loved him, had loved him then and had never stopped loving him.

He wished his father had shared it sooner. He regretted that his father had not felt comfortable enough to share it with him when he was younger. _But would I have appreciated it at all back then?_

And then he remembered the young woman that had found it and made this happen. _‘This was all Sansa’s idea,’_ he recalled Rhaegar saying.

He stared at her, beautiful Sansa with her gleaming red hair, delicate high cheekbones and sparkling blue eyes…loving, sweet and compassionate Sansa that had welcomed him into her home and into her bed, playing her keyboard piano for him, playing his father’s music, his gift in her little apartment.

He felt his heart glow with affection as he looked upon her. Did she know how much this meant to him? Would she believe him if he told her how much _she_ meant to him?

His father sat beside him and Jon took his hand. He could not look at him right now. The emotions were too raw. But he could hold his father’s hand just as his father had held his when he was still a child.

_I’ll hold my hands out to you while you take your first steps. Hold my hand while we cross the street. I’ll hold your hand when I walk you into school on your first day. Let me take your hand and pull you back up when you fall._

The love of a parent for his or her child, a never-ending promise no matter how many mistakes were made along the way.

When Sansa finished playing, she looked up at him and smiled. She would not press him but Jon knew she wanted to know his thoughts. And she looked nervous, fearful perhaps that he’d be displeased in some way. He waited a minute or so before speaking but smiled right back at her.

“I’d like…I’d like to hear it again,” he said to Sansa at last. “And I’d like to hear it on the harp,” he said to his father.

His father wiped his face and said, “I’d like to play it for you, son. Perhaps someday you’ll play it as well for your...” his father didn’t finish the thought but Jon knew what he was going to say.

It was like another physical blow to imagine having children of his own while knowing that they would never know their grandparents, Jon’s parents. He had not known his own and he wished he had. It hurt to think his kids would miss out on that, too. _But perhaps they’ll know their mother’s parents_ , he thought as he subconsciously glanced at Sansa again.

His father suggested that they get out of Sansa’s hair for the night and they prepared to leave. His father was tired and needed rest. They all did truly so he kissed Sansa goodnight at the door and told her he’d see her tomorrow.

“You were wonderful tonight, sweetheart. Your music was beautiful and then this…Sansa, this was…it meant a lot to me.”

“I’m glad,” she whispered softly in his ear. “I hated the thought of it being buried in a drawer and you never knowing of it until…” There was a pause and then a hitch in her voice when she said, “until later.”

She bowed her head but he could see the glaze of tears. He merely nodded, not trusting himself to speak as he swallowed yet another lump in his throat.

They talked very little on the ride home. Jon did not mind. His father had said so many things that night, more than the young man he had been a few months ago would’ve ever hoped to hear from his reserved and taciturn father.

So, Jon let Rhaegar stare out the passenger window at the lights as he made his way from her place to the house and he thought of Sansa. In a relatively short amount of time, she had become a friend and a lover. But more than that, she was his touchstone, his safe haven in this difficult period in his life.

And not just for him but for his father as well. She had helped reconcile them in some ways. If not for Sansa and her willingness to let him come to her at night and talk, Jon wondered if he would’ve made it through that first month here. Maybe he would’ve. Sansa had said the other night that she knew him to be an honorable man and knew that he would never abandon his father at such a time. But it would’ve been so much harder to wade through those early days without her friendship and comfort.

He wanted to do something for her, wanted to heal some of her hurts as well. He worried that she might resent it though.

“Dad?” he said in the quiet of the night as they neared the house.

“Yes?”

“If I wanted to do something for Sansa, something that might take us away for a couple of days, how would you feel about that? And do you think you’d be alright here?”

Rhaegar chuckled to himself and shook his head. “I can manage a couple of days on my own just fine, son. But I’m not sure I want to be around when you make your suggestion.”

“Why do you say that? And you don’t even know for certain what I’m suggesting.”

“I know you. I know exactly what you’re going to suggest and I have a feeling she’s going to resist.” Jon started to argue but his father said, “Jon, I’m not trying to discourage you. I think it’s something that she needs to do. The question is will you ever convince her to do it.”

“Any suggestions?”

“You could always write her a song.”

 

* * *

 

 

Another week passed and Sansa was nearly done with finals. She had two classes to finish over the summer and then she would graduate in August. She was glad of it and frightened, too.

Finishing school would mean looking for work, real work, not just a part-time job at a shop. It was something her parents had expressed some concern about with her choice of Music for a degree. She knew they had a point but she could feel all this music bubbling inside her, longing to get out and she wanted to try and make a career out of it.

The last time her parents had come down to see her at school, nearly two years earlier, they’d tried to talk her into transferring to a school closer to home, to finding a ‘steadier sort’ of career path. Her mother had said she needed her girl back home. Catelyn Stark had still been quite fragile then but the guilt trip was not appreciated and they’d wound up arguing, the three of them.  She’d asked them to leave if they could not understand how important this was to her.

They swore they did understand and only wanted her to come back home even if she wanted to continue pursuing her degree in music. She was too incensed by then to listen to them anymore.

They were paying for school and helping support her and she worried that they might force her to transfer, to bend to their will.  But they didn't.

A week later, they called and begged her to come visit them.  She’d promised to come home at Christmas that year…and then didn’t. She agreed to come home over the summer…and then told them she wanted to take a course load instead.

Then, they had stopped asking and she didn’t go back home.

Partly, she didn’t want to argue about her major or transferring but it was the guilt and shame from everything when she’d been a senior in high school that had really kept her away.

And as time passed and they stopped trying to coax her into coming home, the sense of abandonment and hurt feelings kept her away, made her push their love away.

She was beginning to question that decision. Observing Jon and Rhaegar’s relationship and learning what it had been like before and how it was finally healing now was making the more rational part of her mind aware of the futility of running away, even if she wasn’t truly running.

As for her career plans, Sansa harbored no secret dreams of being a singer or pop star. She could sing well she’d been told but mostly she was interested in composing and playing for others. If she spent the rest of her life teaching the piano to kids though, she wouldn’t complain.

She thought of Jon’s career as a studio musician and wondered if she could make a living that way as well. But he was a guitarist and had performed with some well-known acts. He’d been invited to guest on a tour this summer though he’d turned it down.

A romantic part of Sansa wondered what it would be like to be on the road with him, to follow Jon from venue to venue, to see him up on stage and know that it would be her arms that he would come back to every night. Perhaps it was just a young girl’s rock and roll fantasy but it still made her smile to think of it.

And even more, she wondered what it would be like to write music with him and perhaps perform with him. The piano was her instrument but she thought perhaps they could make a good duet.

She shook her head at herself for her daydreams. She still had school to finish and Jon would go back to his life after his father passed. She wanted to believe there was a place for her in that life but she feared asking him directly. She didn’t know how she’d handle it if he thanked her for their time together and moved on. She didn’t want be alone anymore and she didn’t know if she had it in her to build her walls all over again.

The sale of the shop was in progress and would be finalized in mid-June. Jon had been down today when his father had mentioned packing up some things. She couldn’t blame him. She’d been down, too.

So, when she’d asked if he was coming over tonight since she didn’t have any studying to do, she was pleased to see his eyes light up at once. Tonight would be a good night to enjoy each other and try not to dwell on the future too much.

Or so she thought...

“I’ve been thinking,” Jon said after their late-night dinner as he slid into bed beside her. She pressed herself against his lean and muscled body and ran her hands through his curly hair, enjoying this closeness after a long day.

“About what?” she asked before she started kissing her way down his throat and chest. “I hope you were thinking naughty thoughts.”

“No, not exactly. Sansa…fuck, sweetheart,” he sighed as she had made her way south of his navel. “ _Ohhhh_ -kay, stop for a sec. Please.”

“Sorry. I’ll behave,” she said pulling herself back up his body and giving him her full attention.

“Well, maybe not for too lon-"

She put a finger to his lips and giggled when he pulled it into his mouth…then moaned when he started sucking on it and looking at her with one of his intense, heated gazes.

“Jon…” she said breathily. “Do you want to talk or not because…”

“Sorry,” he said falling back on her pillows and laughing. “Shit, I’m dying to have you after the past couple of nights trying to let you study and now here I am talking. I really hope I don’t fuck up tonight now,” he said covering his eyes for a minute.

Sansa scowled at that. “How are you planning on fucking up tonight exactly?”

“Well, I wanted to ask you something. Sansa, you’ve got a break coming up before summer classes start and I was wondering if you’d want to take a short trip with me. I talked to Connington today and told him I needed to go home for a day or two just to square away a little personal business.”

“And you’re asking if I want to come with you?”

“Yeah.”

“But your dad…”

“Encouraged me to go. You know Dad. He scoffed at the notion he couldn’t hack it a day or two without us.” Jon pulled her to him and caressed her face, “But baby…that’s not all there is to it. The stuff at my place wouldn’t take more than a day. I wouldn’t even need to be gone over night.” He kept stroking her face so tenderly and Sansa was losing herself in his touch before he continued. “I was thinking though we could take a trip further north if you wanted…for a visit.”

She was puzzled for a moment or two. His grey eyes were looking at her anxiously. _What does he mean…_

“No,” she whispered when realization struck. “No!” she said more forcefully.

“Okay!” he said, throwing his hands up in surrender. “I’m not making you or anything, I promise. I just thought with the break you might want to go…”

“Well, I don’t,” she said sitting up in bed. She wrapped her arms around her knees and laid her head on top of them, turning away from Jon.

He sat up beside her and lightly rubbed her back. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry if I pissed you off. I didn’t mean to hurt you by suggesting it either. I just…I want you to be happy.”

“I’m happy here with you,” she said while she ignored the urge to cry.

“Sansa, I’m happy with you, too.” He kept rubbing her back and she felt his forehead resting on her shoulder when he said, “Sansa…I’m falling in love with you, sweetheart. Hell, I’m already there. God, lately it’s like I can’t fucking breathe when I look at you. My heart feels like it wants to swell up in my chest and squeeze my lungs till I can’t draw a breath at all.” Sansa felt the tears prick her eyes and kept her head turned away. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same about me,” he said softly.

She lifted her head back up and stared at him then. She searched those moody, soulful eyes for a lie. There was no lie, only a hint of violet and tears that he hadn’t shed yet.

 _He loves me. Has any man ever been in love with me?_ She knew the answer to that.

“You mean that, don’t you?” she asked. He nodded and she laid back down and let him sweep her up in his arms and kiss her. “Jon…no man has ever been in love with me but I believe you. God, I want that…to be worthy of your love.”

“You are, sweetheart. You deserve the best, better than me.  Don’t ever think that you’re not worthy.”

“I think I love you, too. I’ve never really been in love before though,” she said softly and heard him expel a shaky breath at those words. “I thought I loved Joffrey when I was a stupid little girl…before he showed me what he really was. But you’re not him. You’re nothing like him. You’re everything I could want. You’re like some prince charming I used to dream of when I was still a little girl and believed in fairy tales.”

“I’m a rather shabby prince.”

“You’re perfect. Brave, gentle and strong…and hot,” she murmured in his ear making him laugh. She kissed him then with a renewed passion. _If I’m going to love you, let me love_ _you with all my might_.

Her hands roamed up and down his body and her lips pressed hungrily against his. His lips parted and allowed her to explore his mouth. He moaned as her hand wrapped around his cock while her tongue sought to dominate his.

He pulled back suddenly. “Are you trying to distract me, Stark?” he asked with a raised brow.

“Maybe a little,” she conceded. His wounded look hurt and she knew she had to stop trying to deter or deflect. “Jon…why do you want me to go see them?”

“They’re your family. You need them and they need you. They love you and you love them. And I’m just thinking of all the time I wasted being angry at my dad.”

“I’m not angry with anyone,” she said quietly, knowing that she lied.

“I think you are…just a little anyway. Sansa…Dad’s not going to make it. If it weren’t for him calling me and asking for help, we wouldn’t have made things right between us…ever. But it’s not just patching things up with him. I met you because of his call. And meeting you has been the most wonderful thing I could ever have dreamed of.” He pulled her back against him and kissed the top of her head. “I won’t push you to go. It’s just a suggestion. But I want you to know that if you wanted to see them, talk to them…I’d be right by your side if you wanted me there. You can spend your life running away from the bad things in the past and running away from your family because of it but I don’t think that’s who you are. And if none of us are promised tomorrow, why do we spend so much effort putting off things that matter? Why do we waste time being angry and pushing love away?”

She never had been any good at hiding her tears. Part of her wanted to tell him to fuck off and stop talking about this but he knew how to reach her. She knew she was stubborn, like her father. She _had_ been angry at him and her mother though she didn’t like to admit it.

And she had been hurt that they had let her go without fighting for her anymore. That had hurt worse than anything.

“They don’t want me,” she whimpered. “We fought the last time they came here…and I wasn’t worth coming back for. I was awful to them,” she sobbed as she broke down.

“They should have, baby. You’re their daughter. They should’ve come to you. And maybe you were awful but I’ll bet they forgave you for the awful the moment it was done.”

“I told them I needed space. I told them I wanted to concentrate on my music and I didn’t want distractions. I said I was stronger without reminders of…”

“They still should’ve come back…but you could’ve said the same of my dad at times,” he said. He held her while she cried. “I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not my place to-“

“Shut up,” Sansa said. He looked so stricken at the way she had said it and it made her laugh. “I’m not mad at you. Sorry. Just stop talking, is what I meant. You’re wonderful and you only want to help.”

“Sansa, I love you,” he said then. “You are so important to me. I can’t predict what the future holds for me and you but I want us to have something lasting…if you want that, too. You and Dad are my world right now. I just want to see you smile, sweetheart. I want to see you whole and happy. I want to slay your monsters and banish every hurtful word that’s ever been said to you. I want to erase every foul thing that’s ever been done to you. I want to meet your folks and tell them I love their daughter and that she’s amazing and talented and wonderful and that they’re missing it.”

Did he know what he did to her… _for_ her…when he talked that way? For a man who could be every bit as silent and brooding as his father in some ways, Jon always seemed to know what to say to her.

“Alright,” she said at last. “I promise to think about it.”

“It’d be next week.”

“I won’t take all week thinking about it, okay?” she said as she turned to nip at his earlobe. She could tell he wasn’t completely satisfied with that answer but it was the only one she could honestly give right now. “Jon…can we do something besides talk now?”

“Like what?” he asked with that sweet and sexy grin of his that always took her breath away.

“Lay on your back,” she said.

He complied readily enough though he was still giving her an appraising look. But he gasped when she wiggled down between his legs and started licking his cock, slowly testing what it was like to take him in her mouth.

“Sansa, you don’t have to do that…not that I’m complaining.”

“You’ve went down on me at least a dozen times,” she argued.

“Were we keeping score?” he asked, his eyes all serious again.

“No.”

“Good. That’s not what it’s about, sweetheart.” She felt stupid now but he cupped her face and his words made that feeling go away at once. “I care about you and I enjoy doing that to you. And, you’re so fucking hot when you come and you taste so good to me. I’m more than happy to lay here and let you suck my cock but don’t ever think it’s something that’s owed, alright? What happens in bed between us should please us both or we don’t do it, okay?”

He had already filled in the blanks on the things she hadn’t said about Joffrey. Jon just seemed to intuitively understand.

Her sexual experiences prior to him had been negative ones. She’d felt torn down and stripped bare by them even though her other partners didn’t treat her the way the first one had.

Joffrey had mentally beat her down until she finally submitted to having sex with him even though she’d not felt ready. He had never cared about her pleasure. And once she’d given in, he’d made her feel like a whore.

And the two other guys she’d slept with since she’d started college had been flings.

The first was just a one night stand, meaningless once the initial excitement faded.

The other was a guy she’d met in one of her classes. They’d wound up hooking up after a party and maybe a dozen times more. She hadn’t felt secure with him or with herself then.  There was no real attachment between them.  It had not been special to either one of them. Sansa had just wanted to see if it could be like the songs said. But it had only left her feeling empty inside. She stopped answering his calls after a couple of months and he didn’t bother calling after a week of silence on her end.

But Jon was so much different than them. And this…this was what everyone carried on about, Sansa was certain. He was gentle with her, not necessarily meaning the physical act itself but the emotional side of it. The sex might be wild at times, a fury of groping, hungry passion that left them both breathless. But it was the careful way he handled her heart, the way he spoke tenderly and lovingly to her that made her dizzy with happiness but also made her feel safe and treasured.

So, this would be a little experiment for her.

The only time she’d given a blowjob before had been traumatic. It has been more of a violation than anything to do with pleasure.  Joffrey had taunted her for her lack of expertise and kept shoving her head down as she tried to hide her tears.  He'd finally held her firmly by her hair as he bucked into her mouth while she tried not to choke and gag all over him.  And the things he had said...she had never felt so disgusting in her life as the way Joffrey had made her feel then.

 _Jon is nothing like him_.

And he seemed to enjoy giving oral almost as much as she enjoyed it. Sansa wondered if giving pleasure to Jon could please her, too.

“I want to do this to you. I want to try. I didn’t enjoy doing it the time….but I thought I might with you.”

“Okay, but if you…”

“Time to shut up again, Jon,” she said with her eyebrows raised in challenge as she slid back down his body.

“Shutting up now,” he said right before she took him back into her mouth. “ _Ahhhh..._ fuck, sweetheart.”

Sansa moaned and hummed around his cock before busily slurping him in as far as she could take him. When it felt like too much, she’d pull off to lick his balls and nuzzle at his groin. She’d kiss the tip before taking him back in again, licking his length before she started sucking again.

His cock was hard and wet from her mouth and his hands were in her hair but he didn’t push or force her head down. She trusted that Jon would never force her to do anything they hadn’t agreed on and he certainly wouldn’t do anything to make her uncomfortable now.

In her heart, she knew she was falling in love with him. But even before she’d accepted it, she was enjoying the incredibly satisfying release of tension that sex with Jon brought. She’d never realized before that sex could make her feel strong and good inside, instead of beaten and like trash.

And when she looked up to see his head thrown back in ecstasy, his messy curls all over her pillow as he sang out her name, she found the answer to her question of whether or not pleasing him could give her pleasure was a yes. She was wet just from watching him and hearing his grunts and groans as she sucked his cock. His mouth was puckered in anticipation of his release, his eyes closed and his hands reverently carding through her hair.

“Get up here,” he rumbled in that deeper tone of his.

She raised her head, her mouth popping off his cock with a plop. “You want me to stop now?” she teased.

“No and yes. Come up here and ride my face. I’ve got to taste you now.”

“But you didn’t…”

“I will. Come up here, Sansa.” She moved up his body with her thighs straddling him. His beard brushed her thighs tickling them. It was strange to be over him like this, exposed and yet powerful. “Now…if you’d like to turn around and continue you can or you can just let me please you like this,” he said before his tongue swiped her folds. Sansa grasped the head board and moaned. “Oh, I think you like this best,” he muttered as he dove in again, his tongue teasing her clit as his warm hands held her to him.

“Fuck, that’s good,” she sighed. “But I want… _uhhh_ …I want to turn around.”

He grinned up at her and swatted her ass playfully as she turned and took him back in her mouth. Her legs nearly buckled when his tongue entered her pussy and he moaned into her while she was sucking him. It made it hard to concentrate on what she was doing to him exactly but when it felt this good, she didn’t care.

After they were both spent, she laid in his arms, letting his hand slide up and down her arm. Safe and loved and happy. She felt all these things with him. She loved him. No matter what happened in the future between them, she would never regret loving him.

“Jon?” she whispered as his hand stopped moving and his breathing became deeper and steadier.

“Yes?” he murmured sleepily.

“Will you really take me there and stay with me if I want?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” he said, fully awake now. 

“Okay.”

“Really? You want to go? Because I don’t want you to feel like you’ve got to go for me or…”

“I know. I want you to take me home next week. I want them to know that I love them.  I want to tell them that I forgive them and that I hope they’ll forgive me, too. I want to tell them that I’m tired of avoiding them and want to be a part of their lives again.”

“Baby, I think that’s…”

“And I want to introduce them to you…to the man that I love.”

He didn’t speak at first but his arms squeezed her tightly. “Thank you, Sansa,” he said at last.

“For what?”

“For everything that you are, my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from 'Find a Reason to Believe' by Rod Stewart.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa take their trip to his home and to visit her parents.

_‘Oh, mirror in the sky_

_What is love?_

_Can the child within my heart rise above?_

_Can I sail through the changin’ ocean tides?_

_Can I handle the seasons of my life?’_

 

They’d left Rhaegar at his shop in the afternoon with his friend promising to check in on him regularly. Sansa had baked him a casserole and had Jon bring her over to the house that morning so she could put it in their fridge for him to eat that night. Rhaegar had groused that he could still manage to feed himself and wipe his own ass but he’d smiled all the same when he accepted it. And his hug afterwards when he bid her a safe journey had been loving and heartfelt.

Jon had been tense and moody the first hour and a half as they drove further away from his father. She couldn’t blame him for that. Even though this had been his suggestion, she knew he felt guilty about leaving his dad alone right now.

But once they’d got down the road a good distance, she’d flipped on the radio and before long she was singing along in his car. She hadn’t meant to be singing out loud but she was so used to being alone in the car that it just came naturally now when she heard a song she liked. At first, she’d been humming the chorus but before long she was singing under her breath. She caught his eyes on her, but instead of feeling embarrassed and stopping, she sang louder. He’d smiled and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. He didn’t make a comment or join in singing but she could tell it pleased him and she didn’t want to stop then.

They’d arrived in the city near nightfall and Jon drove them to his place, a large loft apartment in the trendy downtown area. He told her to make herself at home while he checked his mail and made some phone calls. Sansa had wandered up to where his bedroom was on a landing above the main living area. The room was open on two sides and Sansa could look over the railing at Jon pacing in front of his couch while he was checking in with his father.

She walked over to the window and peered down on the city streets below and wondered what it would be like to wake up in a place thrumming with energy and movement 24 hours a day.

Even though they’d only be there two nights, Sansa unpacked her small suitcase to put her clothes away. Her mother had always been meticulous about not leaving clothes sitting rumpled in suitcases when Sansa was a girl and she’d adopted the same practice.

Intuition made her choose a dresser drawer furthest from Jon’s bed and she found it empty except for two items; a dark blue pair of yoga pants and a lacy pink bra. She pulled them out to give them a closer look. The pants were extra small. The bra was a D cup. She wondered if they’d belonged to the same woman. Somehow, she doubted it.

She heard him climbing the stairs to the landing and she dropped the items back into the drawer. She started to close it and choose another drawer but there was no wall to hide behind. He’d already seen her looking.

“Those were left by people who are never coming back,” he said quietly. “I only kept them out of some ridiculous notion that they might ask me to return them someday.”

“Yes, I imagine you would be considerate that way,” Sansa said, trying hard not to sound stiff.

“Sansa…I’m sorry,” he said, moving closer.

“We met a couple of months ago…at most. You had a life before me. I had a life before you.”

She still clutched her clothes in her arms wondering if she left a piece behind when they journeyed farther north would he hold onto it for her. She wondered if he’d hold onto it even if he left her someday or if she left him.

He walked over and opened a drawer only half filled with things of his; soft, old t-shirts and boxers like the ones he favored for bed when he wore clothes in her bed at all.

“You could use this drawer if you like,” he said.

“Okay,” she said, pushing the other drawer fully closed and slipping her clothes into the drawer he had opened. She turned and put her arms around his neck, kissing him under his beard. “I love you, Jon Targaryen. Do you know that?”

“Yeah but I’ll never get tired of hearing it, sweetheart.”

After that, the rest of their time at Jon’s place had been nice…more than nice. They made love in his bed that night. The things he whispered, the sweet promises he made felt as real and as reassuring as anything ever had.

When she woke up the next morning with one arm draped across her hip while the early summer sunshine poured in and the city streets were alive with honking cars, she knew she liked it here. He often slipped off before daybreak to return to his father’s house so it was a novel and pleasant experience to wake with him still there.

It was even sweeter an hour later after she’d showered to see him making her breakfast and coffee in his kitchen.

“How did you know that I love the smell of bacon and coffee in the morning?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his torso, breathing in the smell of his shampoo and soap.

He turned enough to kiss the side of her head and said, “Who doesn’t love that smell? It smells like home to me. Besides, Mr. Mooch owed you breakfast after all the meals you’ve fed me.”

They spent that day going to a couple of recording studios, running errands and taking care of his professional and personal business. He introduced her to some people in the industry and he introduced her as his girlfriend. Sansa couldn’t help but smile every time he did so.

They met his friend Sam for lunch who was far too open and friendly to put anyone on guard, not even Sansa. Sam asked if she was in the music business and urged her to give him a call when she finished school if she wanted to talk to someone besides Jon about it.

That afternoon, they took a nap together on his couch and then wound up making love there.

“You awake?” he murmured in her ear as his hand slipped under her shirt to caress her stomach.

“I am now,” she replied, stretching and arching her back, feeling the proof of his arousal poking her in the ass. “The only question is, are we going to make it to your bed or not?”

“Oh…I don’t think we’ll be making it to our bed, sweetheart,” he breathed in her ear.

Sansa felt a thrill of excitement at his tone, so full of desire. She felt an even greater thrill that he had called it ‘our’ bed. He probably hadn’t realized he had said it that way. Even if she pointed it out, he might’ve shrugged and nodded as though he couldn’t see it another way.

All this time that she’d been so afraid of facing the past, all the time spent hiding behind walls...she’d never realized that by hiding from the past for so long, she was denying herself a future, one that included happiness. Not until Rhaegar’s son walked into her life.

They hadn’t meant for this to happen but he had needed her. She had needed him, too. But now…they were building something between them, something that didn’t revolve around his father’s cancer and their need to find comfort in a time of sorrow. She liked to hope that they were building something that would last though it would need much nurturing and care…and patience.

But at present, patience wasn’t what either of them were feeling.

“Why climb all those stairs when I could have you here and now?” he said while eagerly unbuttoning her shirt before working to unbutton and unzip his jeans. “God, I’m so desperate for you, baby.  I can’t think of anything right now but being deep inside of you.”

His urgency made her desperate, too. Once their clothing had been haphazardly removed and was lying on the floor, she straddled his lap. She kissed him as he fondled her breasts before she took him inside of her wet pussy.

“Sansa…,” he cried, his gray eyes flashing violet, equally vulnerable and hungry, “baby, please tell me you want this, too.”

Sansa had never been comfortable being loud during sex in the past. Jon talked a lot in bed with her though. He said the most sinfully delightful things that made her feel as sexy as he always was saying she was.

But here in the city, in his large loft apartment, Sansa felt like being heard. And Jon seemed to love that.

“I want this. I want you, Jon. I want you so much, baby,” she said, cradling his face in her hands and kissing him till they were both breathless.

“I love you, Sansa.”

“I love you…so much,” she said. “And right now, I want you to fuck me. I want it so badly.” She didn’t whisper it as she might normally have done. She said it loud and clear.

“Fuck, Sansa…keep talking,” he growled as she began to ride him mercilessly, shamelessly pressing a nipple to his mouth.

“Jon… _ohhh_ …fuck! That’s so good. _Unnn_ …you’re so good, my man. Fuck me like that,” she moaned as she felt her climax building already. “Suck my tits, Jon. I love you tongue on me. You’ve got the most fan-fucking-tastic tongue. Grab my ass, too."

He hummed against her and she bounced faster up and down his cock. His hands were gripping her ass and the pressure was just right on her clit. He started moving her in perfect time with his thrusts.

“You like this, baby?” She nodded and moaned. “Tell me, Sansa. Shout it out loud. I want my neighbors to know I’m fucking you! I want the whole goddamn building to know it, my beautiful girl!”

“ _Mmmm_ …I love your mouth on me. I love your cock… _unnn_ …fuck! I’m going to cum soon. I can’t hold back with you.”

“Cum then, baby. Don’t hold back.”

“Oh! Oh, Jon! Fuck! It’s so good! _Ahhh_ …JON! YES! YES! YES!!!” she screamed.

“FUCK…YES!” he roared, his eyes like obsidian now with his pupils blown.

He slammed into her twice more before he climaxed. She could feel his dick pulsing inside her for several heartbeats as they panted together.

His head dropped back on the couch cushion at last and he pulled her close. She buried her face into his hair that was damp from their nap and the sex. His arms held her to him and she could feel his heart pounding against her bare chest. Sweat trickled down between them where their bodies were joined.

She didn’t want him to let her go. She didn’t want to move. She let his cock soften within her and still she stayed there on top of him. He started stroking her back and kissing her shoulders and murmuring all the sweet words he always said after they made love.

“Jon…I love you.”

“I love you.”

"But you know we can’t be that loud at my parents’ house, right?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. She could feel his soft laughter…all through her body. It warmed her soul.

 

 

The next morning, Sansa stared out the window as the familiar scenery whizzed by and the exit drew nearer with every passing mile.

Jon was focused on the road but Sansa suspected he was keeping quiet to allow her mind to roam freely about what lay ahead.

She’d called her father last week to tell them she was coming for a visit and bringing someone special with her.

Arya had called the next day and said she was going on a beach trip with her boyfriend and was sorry she’d miss her. _My little sister is old enough to take trips with her_ _boyfriend_ , Sansa had thought with a pang.

Jon had been right. They were missing it…but so was she. She was missing out on her siblings’ lives as well as her mom and dad’s.

_“I’ll…I’ll come home for a visit after graduation, Arya. I promise. We’ll see each other then,”_ she’d said.

_“That’d be nice, Sansa,”_ Arya had said…and Sansa could tell she didn’t believe her.

She pulled herself from the unhappy thought and gave Jon a few unnecessary directions. He’d memorized the directions already but she felt the need to talk now that they were so near.

“They’re nice people,” she said, not knowing why she suddenly felt the need to defend them.

“I’m sure they are, Sansa.”

“This will probably be quite awkward for you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m here for you, sweetheart. I want to meet them…but you’re what I’m concerned about.”

Ten minutes later, he turned his car down the drive and the house came into view. Sansa’s breath caught in her throat. Had it really been nearly three years since she’d been home? The house looked the same and yet foreign to her eyes.

_Will they look both strange and similar as well?_

 

* * *

 

The house was quite grand compared to the house Jon had grown up in. He figured the Starks must have money based on certain things he’d picked up on in his conversations with Sansa. He tried not to feel intimidated by it.

She’d dressed carefully this morning but Jon was only just now realizing it. Sansa often dressed nicely, preferring skirts to jean much of the time. She always looked beautiful to Jon regardless of what she wore. And with him, she was usually relaxed in her wardrobe. He’d spent so many evenings in her company now where she wore nothing but her tight t-shirts with no bra and little shortie-shorts or pajama bottoms, all of which was a turn on for him.

But today, she was a wearing a soft yellow dress, the shade of butter with a demure neckline and short sleeves. It fell just past her knees. She’d braided her hair that morning, the thick rope of fire hanging down her back. Jon itched to run his fingers through it and let it loose. She wore beige flats, minimal make-up and he realized she looked almost girlish.

_Well, she is still a girl in a way_.

But he couldn’t help but wonder if she hoped this would please her parents.

They walked up to the house and Sansa rang to doorbell…a visitor to the home she’d grown up in. It hurt him but then he would’ve done the same a few months ago if he’d arrived at his father’s house with no more than a phone call that he was coming for a visit.

He stood in the open foyer with its twelve-foot ceiling and watched as her parents embraced her and noted the stiff hesitancy displayed by the three of them.

Her father’s hair was graying and his expression was taunt. Emotions sat uneasily on his countenance. It reminded Jon of his own father, that reluctance to display his feelings. _That is true of many men though_ , Jon thought, knowing it had been true of him as well at times.

Her mother’s hair was several shades darker than Sansa’s but he could see quite plainly that she had her mother’s look. She smiled and chatted…a nervous sort of chatter. The mental breakdown of three years past had no doubt marked her but outwardly she seemed recovered from that now. _Such wounds are not always visible to the naked eye_.

Sansa introduced him and he shook hands with them both. He could see the questions in their eyes. Who is this man? Why had Sansa brought him with her? How had they met? How old was he?

But before any questions were uttered and before Jon could start to feel too uncomfortable at the scrutiny being aimed at him by the Starks, Sansa’s younger brothers came into the room, a sudden flurry of youthful exuberance breathing life into the tense atmosphere.

No matter the distance Sansa had maintained between herself and her family, it was clear that she loved her little brothers and they seemed more than willing to welcome their big sister back into their home. His heart warmed at the way she embraced them both, no hesitancy at all now. And he saw the way her parents’ faces lightened at the sight of the three of them together.

The boys were teenagers and had none of their parents’ reluctance when it came to their questions.

“Is this your boyfriend, Sansa?” Rickon asked.

He had curly reddish-brown hair and blue eyes. Jon remembered Sansa saying he was only thirteen. _The same age I was when my parents divorced_.

He wondered how much the boy remembered of the day he found his sister in the garage. He’d only have been ten then. Whether he understood later what had been happening that day, Jon would forever be grateful for his timely decision to go ride his bike.

“Yes, Rickon. This is Jon…my boyfriend,” she said with a shy glance his way that he found so endearing.

The boys shook hands with him and Mrs. Stark suggested that Bran and Rickon show Jon were to put their bags. She put her arm around Sansa and guided her towards the rear of the house. Mr. Stark apologized for leaving him in the hands of the boys and then followed his wife and daughter.

He caught Sansa’s swift glance and he nodded to her. _Go on. I’ll be there as soon as I can_.

The boys talked non-stop it seemed, asking him where he lived, what he did for a living, if he was still in college, how had he met Sansa and a dozen other questions as Jon followed them up the elegant, curved staircase. He gave them simple, direct answers, not wishing to be rude but not wishing to give away too much to these boys he’d just met.

“Here’s Sansa’s room,” Bran said opening the door.

Jon walked in and was caught off guard by the signs of the teenager that had last lived in this room. The walls were painted a peachy pink. There were posters of boy bands and young actors on the wall. The dresser still held bottles of fragrance, lip gloss and glitter nail polish.

He ran his hand along the dresser out of curiosity…freshly dusted. Had Catelyn Stark been keeping her girl’s room in a perpetual state of readiness, hoping for her daughter’s return? Or had she merely cleaned it for this visit?

He glanced at the twin beds her room held with their petal pink duvets covered with daisies and a zillion stuffed animals sitting on top. _A girl’s room_.

Only the music stand in the corner seemed to speak of Sansa as she was now.

He thought of her apartment, the soft green and cheerful yellows, the artwork on the wall, her keyboard piano, how well it reflected the young woman she had become.

_Will they know her at all?_

Jon sat down her suitcase on one bed and started to put his on the other. He’d not slept in a twin in years but he could manage and he wasn’t a bit adverse to sharing one with her.

“Come on. We’ll show you your room,” Rickon said.

_Ah. Alright then_. He followed the boys without a sound and was lead to a room two doors down.

“This was our brother Robb’s room when he was still at home.”

He knew Robb Stark was twenty-five and married. He’d already been away at college when their grandfather had moved in with the Starks, when Sansa had been seeing Joffrey.

This room had been vacuumed quite recently, this morning perhaps, and the deep blues and grays were soothing but there was a musty, closed-up feeling to it. There were no posters on the wall. No signs of the boy Robb Stark once was left behind and now Jon had an answer to his earlier question.

This room had been prepared for his visit but was left alone most of the time.

Sansa’s room was indeed being kept ready. Whatever her struggles, whatever her faults, Catelyn Stark was still hoping her daughter would be coming home to stay someday.

He thanked Bran and Rickon and the boys headed off in search of their own entertainment. Jon opened his suitcase and pulled out a fresh shirt. They’d left his place so early this morning that he’d just thrown on the first thing he grabbed which was actually a shirt he normally would’ve slept in. But now he regretted not dressing with a bit more care to meet Sansa’s parents.

The charcoal grey polo was not something he wore regularly but with his black jeans it looked far more respectable than the ratty old t-shirt from the last Nights Watch concert he’d attended that he’d been wearing.

He ran his hand through his curls trying to tame them but it was humid this morning and he gave that up as a hopeless cause.

He put his hands on the dresser and looked into the mirror. _Okay…no more delaying. Time to face the parents_.

 

* * *

 

 

This was pleasant enough. Her father had made coffee and her mother was frying some bacon for sandwiches for a late breakfast or early lunch for her and Jon. Once Jon found his way to them in the kitchen, her mother brought the food to the table. The four of them ate and made small talk about various topics, tiptoeing around the bigger issues.

After she finished eating, her father sat at the table next to her and held her hand. He likely did not realize that Jon was holding her other hand under the table.

Sansa eyed the refill of coffee that her mother had just sat down in front of her and wondered how she would ever be able to take a sip unless she wanted to lap at in like a dog. She snickered quietly to herself.

She felt Jon’s eyes on her and gave him a quick smile. _Nothing is wrong. Just fucking weird, you know?_ she tried to convey with her look.

Her parents had already asked all about her classes and exams and expressed their good-natured disbelief that she would truly be graduating in August. They were trying. She could try, too.

“How has work been, Dad?”

“Work is work, love. Nothing changes there.”

“And do you still work with Mr. Baratheon?” she asked.

That elephant was there…sitting in the corner. Might as well get it out of the way.

“No, we…we agreed to break up the partnership after…after everything,” he said gruffly. He looked down at the floor. She saw the pain in his eyes. “He left town a year or so ago.”

Sansa pulled her hand free from her father’s grasp to sip her coffee then. Under the table though, she squeezed Jon’s hand.

“Just Mr. Baratheon? Or all of them?”

“Just Robert,” her father said. “He and Cersei got divorced.”

_He’s probably still here then_ , she thought with an involuntary shudder.

But she felt her hand being squeezed in return and met Jon’s eyes. Those gray eyes that were usually so soft when they looked at her were like the thunderhead of an approaching storm now. Those eyes said everything his mouth would not. _You don’t need to fear him. I will never let him touch you again_.

“So…Jon,” her mother began then. “Tell us a bit about yourself. Do you go to school with Sansa?”

Sansa automatically tensed. She had been waiting for them to start quizzing her about Jon and their relationship. She should’ve known her mother would be the one asking and that she’d be asking Jon. It wasn’t exactly that she feared their disapproval but she didn’t want them to make Jon feel unwelcome.

“No, ma’am,” he said, finishing his coffee. “I’m finished with school. We…we met at work actually.”

“At the music shop where I told you I was working part time,” Sansa chimed in. “It belongs to Jon’s father, Rhaegar. Mr. Targaryen and I became friends because I spent so much time hanging out there talking about music with him. He offered me a job. Then, Jon came down a couple of months ago to help out for a while. He’s actually a studio musician though. He plays the guitar.”

Her parents smiled with polite interest and asked Jon more questions about his work.

“It’s nice that you and Sansa share a passion for music,” her mother said but Sansa did not like the chilliness that had crept into her tone. “I suppose if you’ve been working as a musician for a while you’re a bit older than her…”

“I’m twenty-eight. I’ll be twenty-nine in a couple of months,” he said, eyeing her father with apprehension.

“And you met our daughter two months ago?” her father asked, his expression inscrutable.

Everything about their attitude annoyed her though she knew she should not be surprised. She was their daughter. They’d been estranged but she was still their daughter and Jon was a stranger in their eyes, an older man that was obviously in some sort of romantic relationship with their daughter.

“He did,” she answered on Jon’s behalf, “but Jon and I have become very close in that time. We’re…we’re in love and he wanted to meet you both.”

“Yes,” Jon said. “I know it’s not been all that long but your daughter is an amazing young woman. I fell in love with her without meaning to and I thought her school break would be a good opportunity to meet you.”

Her father gave them a smile. There was concern in his eyes but he said nothing.

“Yes…I see,” her mother said with less genuine smile.

“So, Arya is at the beach? With her boyfriend?” Sansa asked. _She’s nineteen and I’m twenty-one_ , she childishly wanted to point out.

“Yes, he’s a very nice boy. He’s twenty-one like you. They met at school but we’ve gotten to know him well,” her mother replied, casting another glance at Jon.

“I’d like to go up to my room for a bit to freshen up,” Sansa said, suddenly wanting out of the kitchen, suddenly finding the fragrance of coffee and bacon nauseating. “Jon?” she implored, tugging at his hand.

He rose at once and thanked her mother for the coffee and sandwiches. He followed her up the stairs to her old room.

She looked around in awe. Nothing had changed but she’d forgotten it.

She scoffed at the tanned and smiling blond-haired, blue-eyed boys on the wall. She shook her head at the daydreams of the teenaged girl she’d been before her father’s friend had suggested she might like to meet her own blond-haired and green-eyed nightmare.

“I’m sorry for that,” she said, closing the door and walking into his arms.

“Don’t be,” he said while holding her to him. “They don’t know me and I figured they’d not be too thrilled with the age gap.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’m fifteen and you’re in your twenties. It’s not like you’re old enough to be my dad or something.”

“It matters to them right now but I think they’ll get over it,” he said, kissing her forehead tenderly.

“Will they get over hearing me fuck you then?” she teased, just wanting to share a laugh with him.

“Sansa…this is their house,” he said, his face as serious as a heart attack now. “I don’t want to disrespect your parents’ wishes.”

“What do you…” she looked around the room and saw her suitcase and her suitcase alone. “Where is your suitcase?”

“In your brother Robb’s old room. Bran and Rickon took me there.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“Sansa…it’s fine. We’re not married. They’ve never met me. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine with me!”

He chuckled at that and kissed her again, on the lips this time. “It’s only a night or two.”

“We can get a hotel room,” she grumbled.

“No, love. We can stay here. You’re here to see them…all of them, right? We’ll stay here. It’ll be okay.”

Just then the door opened and her mother was standing the doorway. She folded her arms and gave them a tight smile.

“Did you need anything? Did Bran and Rickon show you to your room, Jon?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve got everything I need,” he said, giving Sansa a final hug before heading towards the door.

Her mother moved into the room and stood between them.

“I’d rather he stayed in my room, Mom.”

“Sansa…I wasn’t sure what kind of _friend_ you were bringing. And your father and I would prefer…”

“I’m here because of Jon, you know.”

“Please, Sansa. You’ve come home for the first time in years with a man you’ve apparently just met a short time ago. Did you really expect us to…”

“He knows everything about what happened, Mom. I told him. I told him things I’ve never told another soul. Not you or Dad or the shrink. I need him by my side. This is hard enough...”

“Did it ever occur to you that your father and I would’ve liked a chance to talk to you about those things? Preferably without an outsider sitting in our conversation.”

“Don’t call him an outsider!”

“Sansa…” Jon said, clearly not wanting them to argue.

“I’m sorry, Jon, but I listened to my share of your arguments with Rhaegar.” She pivoted back to face her mother. “He brought me here! He convinced me to come! I wouldn’t be here without Jon! I didn’t want to come at first but I saw that he was right, that we needed to try and mend things between us.”

“I…”

“So, don’t you dare treat him like he’s not wanted! You don’t want me fucking him under your roof? Fine, we’ll accept that. But just remember that he is the only reason I am standing here. And that’s not even the most selfless part of this. His father is dying. He’s dying, Mom! My friend is dying. But Jon took time away from his father to bring me here during my break because he loves me and wants to help me heal.”

“I didn’t mean to come across that way. I’m sorry. Sansa, I just…”

She cut her mother off to finish. “Jon and Rhaegar have been working to patch up their relationship.” Her tone softened and she looked at Jon. Her eyes filled with tears to see him standing in the doorway of her childhood room, looking like he felt lost and out of place. Her heart swelled in adoration of him. “They’ve been working so hard. They’re doing so beautifully…trying to reconnect after years of distance between them.” She looked back at her mother again. “I just thought…I thought we could try, too. But if you’re going to make him feel unwanted, then we’re leaving…because I don’t think I can do this without his support.”

“Please don’t leave,” her father said from the doorway behind Jon. When he’d appeared and what he had heard, Sansa wasn’t sure. “I want you here. I want you _both_ here,” he said, putting a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “We both do, don’t we, Cat?”

“Yes. Yes…of course,” her mother said, crying now.

It was hard to face her mother’s tears. It always had been. But she’d rather face her tears than run away…at least if they were going to try.

“Alright then,” Sansa said. “We’ll stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from 'Landslide' by Fleetwood Mac.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and her parents work to reconnect. Later, they return home to Rhaegar.

_‘…but there never seems to be enough time_

_To do the things you want to do_

_Once you find them’_

 

Two days of talking. Two days of arguing. Two days of screaming and crying when Bran and Rickon were at school followed by whispered apologies after sullen silences when they’d return home again.

Sansa had feared the arguments and the tears. That last argument two years ago had been horrible.

But she soon realized it was the silences that were most painful to bear…and she had already borne two years of that.

Her mother was the one that shouted and cried. Her father was the silent one. And Sansa was more like him than she ever knew.

Jon stayed by her side but she knew how wretched this was for him to sit through. He was careful to support her without coming out and accusing her parents of anything…most of the time anyway.

He was respectful of her mother’s mental state. Catelyn Stark was stronger than she had been but she would never be the same woman Sansa had known as a girl. And Jon gingerly toed the line around her mother. Sansa knew it was the only way he’d gain any ground with her but was pleased at how he’d intuitively made that realization on his own.

Any fire in Jon’s remarks were aimed at her father. Sansa was surprised by that. Most men, especially younger men, seemed in awe of her father when he spoke and would cower before his icy brand of rage. Not Jon. He spoke his mind. Perhaps years of dealing with a difficult father made him better suited to the task.

But, it wasn’t as though Ned Stark couldn’t take it. She’d curled up and wanted to hide during their first heated exchange. Her and her father had been staring heavily at each other for several minutes after a minor skirmish, both waiting for the other to break the silence.

To her astonishment, Jon had jumped right in, not caring one whit for their ridiculous version of the quiet game. He called her father out on his bullshit and then he’d called her out on her own.

And after that, Sansa became more and more convinced that her father admired Jon for not being afraid to tell him what he thought. Jon might receive a fiery response in return but he was just as likely to get a nod of acknowledgment and agreement.

“You make a fair point,” her father had conceded when Jon lashed out at him for his neglect of her. “But I never have claimed to be perfect. I love her,” he’d said quietly then as his stormy eyes sought hers. “I’ve done a miserable job of showing it the past few years but I love my daughter. And all the time she’s been away…not a day goes by that I don’t think of her.”

Perhaps because it was reminiscent of Rhaegar’s words the night Sansa had played music his father had written for him, Jon had ducked his head and he’d momentarily excused himself from their company.

Sansa had walked over to her father and put her arms around his waist. He did not hesitate to wrap his arms around her in return and hold her close.

“I thought of you, too,” she’d said.

Jon rejoined them later when Sansa and her father had finally talked about _that_ day, the day Rickon found her in the garage with the engine running. Sansa told her father about Joffrey, things she’d never shared before…some things she’d not even told Jon.

She hadn’t known how much grief and guilt her father had carried around with him until she saw him broken and vulnerable and in tears. He had blamed himself for her suicide attempt. He admitted he’d considered it himself at the lowest point when his wife seemed to have lost her mind and his daughter had been seriously injured in a car accident. But, Ned Stark didn’t break that easily and he had carried on. He shouldered his burdens and buried himself in trying to repair his family. And when his eldest daughter had run away to school, he’d told himself that maybe they all needed the break before they could pick up the pieces. He just hadn’t meant for it to take three years to do so.

In the end, progress had been made. There was still much work to do but it was a start. She promised to come home after graduation for a time. She was surprised to find that she meant it. She truly did. She wanted to spend time with her parents and her siblings.

The unspoken part of the promise though was that it depended on Rhaegar. If he were too ill, too close to his end…she’d have to delay. She hoped her family would understand. She suspected that they might.

Their final night there, Sansa sat in her twin bed remembering some harsh words she’d exchanged with her mother in this very room a lifetime ago.

She’d been seventeen. She’d come home from school and found her mother sitting on her bed waiting for her with the plastic pill pack next to her. Grandpa Hoster had been ill and especially belligerent those past few days and her mother’s eyes were wild from frustration, heartache and too little sleep. She should’ve known the conversation wouldn’t go well.

Her mother had been putting away laundry and found her birth control pills. Jeyne Poole’s mother had procured them for her when she’d went to her about being sexually active and afraid of becoming pregnant. Mrs. Poole was a nurse and she was well aware of her mother’s state of mind with an Alzheimer’s patient in the house. She didn’t know about the way Joffrey treated her. She just knew Sansa didn’t want to get pregnant at seventeen and got her the pills.

Her mother had come across them unexpectedly and they’d quarreled about it. Sansa had told her mother that if she didn’t have her head up her ass all the time, she would’ve come to her. She had told her mother she didn’t have a clue about what was going on in her own family because she was so selfish and focused on herself.

That hadn’t been the truth. Her mother was selflessly giving everything she had, her health and her sanity, to the care of her dying father but Sansa had been angry and defensive…and seventeen.

Her mother in turn had called Sansa a spoiled brat and a slut. Those labels hadn’t applied either but her mother had been angry, too. And, she hadn’t known about how things were with Joffrey then because Sansa had never told.

It was the worst fight they’d ever had. A glaring, ugly crack in their façade of the perfect mother and daughter relationship. That fight had hurt. It still hurt…even to this day.

 _Sticks and stones may break my bones but words hurt worse than anything_.

But today, they’d talked about that fight and made amends. Sansa’s eyes were still puffy and red from crying and her throat was burned raw from the tears she’d swallowed. Now, in the still of the night though…the fight from years ago replayed in her mind. Time might help the pain to pass but the memory had not faded yet.

The room felt like a coffin suddenly and she could not bear it another minute of sitting in her childhood bedroom. She crept down the hall to Robb’s old room. She knew everyone else had gone to bed an hour or so ago but she tiptoed past her mother’s room like a teenager sneaking out. She cringed whenever the floorboards in the hall gave a loud and ominous creak under her feet.

Jon was down to his boxers and t-shirt, reading in bed with his glasses perched on his nose when she entered. She closed the door silently behind her and observed him sitting there. He looked up in surprise, his mouth parted in a half smile with a sweet uncertainty to his expression. He was beautiful…and he loved her.

She launched herself on top of him and giggled at the way he threw his book in order to catch her. She kissed him deeply and snuggled into his chest.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” he asked, hugging her tightly.

“I am now,” she replied, amazed at how quickly the tightness in her chest seemed to dissolve with just his question and his arms around her.

“What was it?” he asked as he nuzzled her neck with his nose and kissed her behind the ear.

“Just bad memoires and things that don’t matter anymore,” she said as she propped herself on her elbow.

She ran a hand along his chest, skimming his t-shirt with her fingertips. He shivered at her touch and she kissed him again.

“Sansa…your dad is starting to like me. I’d hate to blow it,” he said with a wry grin as he pulled away slightly.

“Will you just hold me?”

“Of course, I will,” he said earnestly then and helped her climb under the covers.

She knew in her heart that Jon would never deny her comfort of any kind. _That’s what started things between us anyway, comfort…comfort in the face of grief and pain_.

She laid beside him in her brother’s old bed and inhaled Jon’s scent while luxuriating in the warmth and strength of his arms around her. It was what she needed tonight…more than sex really. Comfort, love and support. Jon hadn’t let her down yet. She hoped he never would.

She had drawn so much strength from him these past few days. Strength that helped her move forward. Strength that helped her remember who she was now. Not Ned & Cat’s perfect little girl that did everything they said. Not the frightened girl that bit the inside of her cheek and tolerated Joffrey rather than cause a scene. An adult, a musician, a woman who had found love when she wasn’t even looking for it.

She hoped she could be his strength when he needed comfort in the dark days ahead.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon put their suitcases in the car and shook Ned Stark’s hand one last time. He answered Ned’s fatherly questions about had he filled up the tank and did he need him to check the oil. He asked Jon to make sure Sansa called them when they got home.

Sansa and her mother came out of the house together smiling over some whispered conversation. He was glad to see the level of closeness between them that had been lacking 72 hours ago. It was a start anyway.

Sansa spent the first hour of their drive talking about the visit but once she’d tired of the subject, she asked about Rhaegar.

“I called him before we left your folks’ house. He’s fine he says and expects us to open the shop in the morning for him. All the rentals are coming back in as the kids are finishing up the school year. Says it’s been like Black Friday around the shop and he’s taking a day off to give us slackers a taste of real work.” She grinned and he finished, “He’s also got a doctor’s appointment Friday and asked if you’d be available to cover for us. I’d like to take him but Connington offered if you’re busy.”

“I’m not busy,” she said softly. “My classes don’t start back until Monday.”

“Okay. Thanks,” he said pulling her hand up to kiss before he put both of his back on the wheel. “Oh…I almost forgot. He also had something that he said was extremely important to ask you.”

“What?”

“He needs to know when you’ll bake him some more muffins.”

She laughed at that and the rest of the long drive passed very amiably. Sansa fell asleep about an hour from home and Jon let her rest.

They arrived late that night and, as much as he wanted to stay with her, especially after the past few nights at her parents’ house where kissing and cuddling had been the extent of their activities, he was anxious to see his father. Sansa understood of course.

“Be sure and call your parents,” he reminded her as he headed towards her door.

“I will. Text me and let me know how your dad’s doing.”

“Sure. You know…he’ll likely be asleep,” he said with a grin as he was starting to second-guess his decision. She was standing in the doorway of her apartment looking pink and sleepy and extremely appealing despite their ten-hour drive.

“Text me,” she said giving him a playful shove before kissing his cheek and closing the door.

Jon drove the fifteen minutes over to his father’s house. The lights were all off downstairs but he could hear the TV playing in his father’s room. He walked upstairs and could see the bluish light from the screen illuminating the room and spilling into the hall.

A sudden, sickening sensation struck him, an image of his father lying in the bed and already dead. He thought of walking in on a decomposing corpse. His mouth went dry and his hands felt clammy as his stomach knotted up in revolt.

 _You just talked to him this morning for fuck’s sake. Connington called last night and said he was all good_.

Nevertheless, his heart was pounding.

 _Please be fine, please be fine, please be fine_ , ran through his mind like a prayer. He realized he was whispering it and stopped.

He peeked in and saw the perfectly ordinary sight of Rhaegar in his pajamas, propped up in bed on his pillows with his glasses sliding down his nose while he snored loudly to Lawrence Welk.

Jon stood in the doorway as his heartbeat returned to normal and observed his father. He looked ill of course…but no more than he had the morning they’d left. He seemed peaceful in a way as he slept but still very much alive.

Jon clicked off the TV and took out the beloved DVD. He carefully removed his father’s glasses, setting them on the nightstand beside him.

He touched the back of his father’s hand. It was warm to the touch. He allowed his fingertips to brush the skin once…twice. His father’s hands were the same size as his. Somehow that seemed hard to accept, like they should still be bigger. Jon wondered how long it had been since he’d paid any attention to his father’s hands. Maybe he never really had at all.

He thought of his father’s hands skipping across the strings while plucking the notes on his harp. He remembered the crease that would appear in Rhaegar’s brow when he was playing a difficult passage. He thought of the way that crease would disappear and a more contented look would settle on his face when the difficult part was over.

Jon’s heart ached. He wanted to embrace his father…but he would not disturb him now. He would not burden the dying man with his pain tonight.

Jon wanted to return to Sansa’s, to hide in her arms and pretend everything would be alright…but he would not leave the house tonight.

He pulled the blanket up over him and turned to head to his own room. He’d just reached the hall when he heard his father’s voice.

“That you, buddy?” his old man said hoarsely.

 _Buddy_. Jon choked down a sob. “Yeah, Dad,” he said from the hall.

“You eat some dinner?”

 _Always worried about me eating_ , he thought with a smile. “Yes, Dad,” Jon said as his stomach roiled in revolt at the fast food chili dog he’d scarfed down two hours ago while driving.

“How was school today?”

Jon ducked his head back in the room as the gooseflesh appeared on the back of his neck and his arms. The room was darkened but he could still see him from the nightlight his father had taken to leaving on in the master bath.

“School?” he asked, hoping he’d misunderstood him.

“Yeah…school.” Jon stood gaping at him and his father must’ve realized what he said. “Ah, fuck. I’m still half asleep. Ignore that. How’s our girl doing?” he asked next.

“Uh…she’s good, Dad. Listen…it’s late and I just drove all day. I’m going to head to bed but I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay, son.”

Jon fled to his room with his heart pounding in his ears and closed the door. He drew in several deep breaths but this time the urge to cry was too strong. He slid down to the floor but covered his mouth so his father would not hear him and worry.

The whole time they’d been gone, he’d worried. But not like this. Not like now. This sense of time flying by and their time coming to an end had him panicked. There were things he still wanted to say, stuff he’d imagined they might do. But what we want and what we get can be two very different things.

His chest heaved as he shook with silent sobs. He burrowed his face into his shoulder, biting down hard on his knuckles to stifle the wails that wanted to tear from his throat. He cried until he was dry.

He cursed God and cancer. He prayed for a miracle. But in the end, he knew what he was going through wasn’t all that unusual…no matter how much it sucked. Plenty of people experienced it every damn day. The thought didn’t make it any easier though.

Once his eyes were dry, he grabbed his phone and sent her a text.

_I’m glad we went but I can’t leave him again now._

It took her less than a minute to respond.

_I know. I feel the same._

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning Jon woke after a restless night’s sleep. His heart was thudding in his chest. He’d been dreaming about walking down a long hallway, searching for something and not finding it. Time was running out but he hadn’t found it. Something waited at the end of the hall. Something bad but he had to find the thing first. He just couldn’t remember what it was.

He startled when he heard the backdoor opening downstairs. But then his father called out an amiable greeting and Jon pushed his dream away.

Curiosity got the better of him. He padded downstairs and found Sansa standing arm in arm with his father. She was carrying a basket of muffins.

“Look at this sweet girl, Jon. Like Little Red Riding Hood with her basket of treats,” his father said. “Got up extra early to bake me muffins and deliver them. Best gift I could’ve asked for,” he said as he patted her hand and shot Sansa an adoring look.

“You can have the muffins but that’s my girl, old man,” he said in jest. “Good morning, Little Red,” he said with a smile.

Sansa blushed while his father eyed him standing in the kitchen in just his boxers.

“Christ, son…put on some clothes. Whatever you two do when you’re alone show your lady some respect when you’re around the rest of us.”

Jon laughed despite being slightly embarrassed. Sansa gave him a wink and a suggestive look behind his father’s back before she busied herself getting out dishes. She was offering to fry some bacon for them when Jon headed back down to the kitchen after donning a pair of jeans and a shirt. The coffee was already brewing and he was grateful for the domesticity of this moment; the three of them sitting in his father’s kitchen, having breakfast and chatting about their trip.

His father was cautiously polite in his questions about their visit to see Sansa’s family. He would never wish to wound her. Jon suspected he’d get a more thorough questioning after she left.

He was eager to know about Jon’s business as well; when he’d be recording again and if he was planning on any touring.

“Nothing immediately on my plate, Dad,” he said decisively.

No matter what Sam said, now was not the time for Jon to be running off on tour or spending hours sitting in the studio three hours away.

 _The studio_ …

He watched his father sip his coffee and decided something then.

“Actually, I’d like to talk to you…to both of you about something. I’d like to do some recording…around here maybe at one of the area studios.”

“This town isn’t exactly a booming part of the music industry, son.”

“I know that. This isn’t…well, it’s more of a personal thing and I think one of the sound studios here would work fine. What I’d like is to record us…playing together.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Jon,” Sansa said. “Rhaegar can play his harp and you can…”

“I meant you as well, sweetheart. It’d be…” he paused and caught his breath. His heart had started racing again but he wanted to get this out. “It’d really mean a lot to me for us to have something…to record us playing together, Dad.”

“Her piano and your guitar against my poor harp? I’m not sure how it’d sound.”

He didn’t mean it to be rude. His father was very practical about music and instruments working together.

“I think we could make it work, Dad. It’s easy to arrange the set so your harp wouldn’t be drowned out. Sansa and I could arrange the piece to emphasize the harp even.”

“You wanting us to play your piece…that I wrote for you?” his father asked. He was moved Jon could tell but also excited at the thought.

“Yeah…and maybe one of Sansa’s, too. If you wouldn’t mind sharing your music with us, that is,” he said to her. Sansa had tears in her eyes but Jon refused to join her just now. “I could share some of my stuff, too.  It's…well, it’s not great but I had written something that might be okay.”

Sansa nodded enthusiastically. “I’d love to do that with you both,” she said.

“Well,” Rhaegar said wiping his mouth and trying to hide his smile. “I’ll give it a go for you, buddy. But I’ll warn you…I’ve play so little the past five years, I’ll probably sound terrible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from 'Time in a Bottle' by Jim Croce


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon, Sansa and Rhaegar make music together and the shop is sold.

_‘And I knew if I had my chance_

_That I could make those people dance_

_And maybe they’d be happy for a while’_

 

Rhaegar stared at the slice of whole wheat toast and fried egg Jon placed in front of him.

“Weren’t there any of Sansa’s muffins left?” he asked forlornly. Not that there was anything wrong with a slice of toast and a fried egg but Sansa’s muffins were the best.

“Uh…no. We must’ve eaten them all yesterday,” Jon replied… _evasively_.

“There were three left yesterday after breakfast. I’m sure of it,” Rhaegar said with more and more certainty. Jon stayed busy at the sink. He was fidgeting…just like he would when he was little and had done something wrong. _Little cocksucker_. “You ate them, didn’t you?” he barked.

“God! Okay…Yes!” Jon cried throwing up his hands in surrender. “I ate them, alright? I had them last night after I got back from Sansa’s.”

“She made them for me,” Rhaegar pouted.

“Are you actually sitting there and pouting at me over muffins?” Jon asked with a grin.

“I do not pout,” he sniffed. “I was just looking forward to them this morning.”

“Look…I’m sorry, Dad. I’ll ask her if she’d be willing to bake us some more.”

“She already does enough for us.”

“I know. I’m truly sorry I ate your muffins, Dad,” he said with that same mopey face and sweet little way he’d duck his chin when he was a kid and he knew he was about to get it. _That always got the little shit out of trouble with Lyanna…and me most of the time_. “I was hungry when I got home.”

“It’s fine. Three muffins though? She wear you out that much?” he chuckled. Jon’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead in shock and Rhaegar realized what he’d said. “Never mind! Forget I asked that!”

Jon laughed and poured himself some coffee, leaning back on the kitchen counter and waiting for him to take a bite of the breakfast he’d made him. _Oh, for fuck sake_ … Rhaegar picked up his fork and tried a bite of eggs. They were tasty but his stomach started to clench up immediately.

“Umm…these are good,” he said as he took a sip of coffee. “You should have some.” Jon smirked and he pointed his fork at his son. “It’s obvious you work out but you’re awfully slender. You don’t eat enough.”

“You never mothered me this much when I was a kid, you know,” Jon said while rolling his eyes at him.

“You had your mother to mother you when you were a kid, you know,” he replied sarcastically. But Jon’s eyes lost their light then and he frowned. Rhaegar heard him sigh as he turned back towards the sink. “Son…I’m sorry. I know you must miss her. I miss her too but she was your mom. She was a good one.”

“It’s okay, Dad,” Jon said while keeping his back turned.

Rhaegar saw his shoulders slouch and knew that tears might not be far off. “Did you get anything set up for our recording session?” he asked to change the subject to something brighter.

“Working on it,” he said. He turned and gave him a falsely bright smile. “I’m going to grab a shower. Appointment’s at 9, right?”

“Yeah, it’s at 9, son.”

He watched Jon flee the room like it was on fire and stared down at the plate of eggs and toast. Sansa’s muffins had tasted wonderful even if they had wound up coming back up again. He didn’t really want to see the eggs and toast make a return and he shuffled over to the garbage and scraped the plate clean.

Jon Connington had arranged the sale of the shop for him. The buyer said he’d be ready to close in a couple of weeks. _Lots of work to get things ready to turn over. Let’s hope_ _I’m up to it_.

Jon and Sansa didn’t know just yet. He planned on telling them both together this afternoon. He hoped Jon would handle it well. The stop hadn’t been his favorite place to hang out as a kid but it’d been part of his childhood in a way…and he knew what it had meant to his father now.

 _I asked him for three months and he’s given me that. I’m not asking him for more than that. He’s got his own life to live_.

Rhaegar didn’t doubt that Sansa would probably tear up at the news but she was young, her future was in front of her and his old shop had just been a part time job really. She might never realize how much having her there had meant to him. _Not unless you tell her_.

 

Two hours later, Rhaegar sat in the waiting room next to Jon absently flipping through old magazines that had been there since he’d started coming here months ago. Jon was on the phone.

“Okay, Sam…yeah, I know…” His son’s eyes cut over to him. “No, I don’t think that would work for me right now.” Jon stood and stretched his legs but they were alone in the waiting room for the time being and he could hear Jon’s half of the conversation perfectly. “It’s not a business thing. It’s personal. There shouldn’t be any reason for anybody to object…yeah, we’re just recording our music for ourselves…well, I didn’t ask a lawyer because that’s irrelevant…can you talk to the studio or not?” Jon huffed into the phone. “Yeah, thanks.”

He came back over and sat down.

“Problems?”

“Not really. Sam’s freaking out that I’m going to be in violation of some clause in my contract with Star Studios over doing our thing.”

“Would you be?”

“No…at least I don’t think so. It’s personal. It’s not business. We’re not going to make any money off it. Hell, I’m paying the studio here for the time. Sam just worries about me.”

“He’s a good manager.”

“He’s not my…fuck, I guess he is. Do I need to start paying him?”

“Only once he catches on to it. Invite him to come down and watch. I’d like to meet your friend-who’s-your-manager-but-thinks-he’s-just-your-friend.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll do that.”

The nurse came to fetch Rhaegar soon after and he followed her down the hall. She was quite lovely with a curvaceous figure. A year ago, he might’ve been tempted to stare at her ass as he followed her. Now, he just wanted to make it to the exam room without heaving up his breakfast. _Fucking cancer_.

“Good morning, Rhaegar,” his oncologist said marching into the room full of all the life and vigor that any thirty-eight-year-old should feel. _Asshole_. “So, the nurse said you mentioned that the nausea is getting worse?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got a script that can help with that.”

“No, thanks. Every pill you give me fixes one thing and leads to three new issues. I’ll deal with my queasy stomach.”

“Okay then. How about the confusion?”

“It’s…um, it’s okay, I guess.”

The doctor gave him the side-eye but let it drop for now. “So, we got the rest of your results…” he said clearing his throat. “Some of them were…um, not promising.”

_He’s using the same goddamn evasive tone that Jon used regarding the muffins this morning._

“Let me take a wild guess…I’m dying.”

 

* * *

 

 

“How was that?” Jon asked the technician behind the glass as he laid his guitar across his lap.

“That was really nice. You guys sound terrific together.”

“Thanks.” He turned towards his father and asked, “What’d you think, Dad?”

“Well, we didn’t sound like shit that time.” Sansa’s shocked gasp made him amend it to, “Okay, I’m kidding. We’re sounding pretty good.”

Sansa beamed at them both then. Her smile made his chest hurt…but in a good way. Sam was standing beside the technician and gave him the thumbs-up.

It had taken over a week of wrangling to get things set up with the studio but Jon was glad he had. He and Sansa had spent hours arranging the pieces to make sure his father’s harp was prominent. He’d loved that time of working on music with her. He hoped they could maybe do more of that in the future.

His father had spent several days looking over the pieces and practicing at the house. It was nice hearing the harp again when he came home from doing something. It’d been years since he’d heard him play. And hearing his father practicing the song he’d composed for him was something extra special.

Rhaegar’s eyes were not as strong as they’d once been. He’d get frustrated trying to read the music at times. But once he had learned a piece, he didn’t really need the music anymore. It just flowed through him…like the most natural thing in the world.

He’d been like a little kid on Christmas morning when he got out of bed today. Jon hadn’t seen him moving so quickly in a couple of weeks. It almost made him feel hopeful…almost.

But there were signs that things weren’t going so well. He was sick a lot for one thing. He had trouble keeping his meals down. He tried to deny it but Jon could hear him vomiting after most meals. He’d stopped hanging around the bathroom door uncertainly and started going in to provide whatever help or support he could a week ago. Still, it wasn’t an easy thing to get used to.

Seeing a parent helpless and ill…he had some experience with that already with his mother but Lyanna had managed to hide most of the truly unpleasant aspects of chemo and cancer from him until the very end. She had a good friend who happened to be a nurse and thus, Jon was told not to worry and to focus on his studies. He was younger then, busy finishing school…she’d not wanted him to worry. She probably hadn’t wanted him to see the ugliness of terminal illness either. That was just the way she was.

Last night, he’d decided to skip going to Sansa’s when his father had an especially bad spell after dinner. After he helped him back to bed, his father had asked if he’d liked Kelly, the new sitter. That same chill chased down his spine as it had the night he’d returned from his trip and his dad had asked him about his day at school.

“Uh…Kelly?”

Jon wracked his brain until he recalled the college co-ed his mom had hired when he was nine to watch him after school when she’d picked up a part-time job for a time.

“Yeah…Kelly. The cute little redhead,” his father had said with a fond smile. “Go ask your mother what’s for dinner, buddy.”

Jon had watched him fall asleep soon after and got online to do more research, his heart racing and his brain trying to figure out what it all meant. Because it couldn’t mean what he thought…it just couldn’t.

Then, he’d called Sansa. She’d come over and spent the night with him. They didn’t have sex. He was too rattled to focus on that. But her body wrapped around his had calmed him enough so he could sleep.

When she came downstairs to have breakfast that morning, his father had been excited about their recording session. If he was surprised to see Sansa, he didn’t let on. He just chatted away about their music. If he was less taciturn than normal, Jon could attribute that to the day’s plans.

 _He was just tired and half asleep last night. That’s all. We’re okay. We’ve got some more time, right? They said six months but they could be wrong. And it’s only been three_.

Once they were finished recording, Sam called Sansa over to discuss some of her music and her plans after graduation. Rhaegar continued to pluck at his harp lightly while Jon helped pack away their equipment. The three of them had plans for lunch and Sam was invited along.

Jon recognized the tune that his father was playing. It was something he’d recorded decades ago. His mother had enjoyed playing it on their old record player. She had said it was his father’s biggest hit…as far as harp solos went.

“What’s that piece called?” he asked his father.

“Lady Lyanna,” his father replied, never missing a stroke of the strings.

Jon felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He’d never realized his father had written something for her, that he’d recorded it and it had apparently gained some notoriety.

“I didn’t know,” he said, hoping he could still swallow despite the lump in his throat.

“There were lots of things we didn’t know about each other, Jon.” His father looked at him and said, “I wrote this not long after I married your mother. It wasn’t until after you were born that it got any attention.”

“I remember Mom liked it. She loved it. She played it sometimes…even after the divorce. I didn’t understand why really.”

His father smiled but it was touched with bitterness. “I’m sure you didn’t. She probably didn’t say much about it. And besides…‘Who gives a shit about the harp?’ I believe you said to me once.”

“Dad, if I could take those words back and…”

“I know you would, son. You were just a kid.  I said plenty of stupid things to you…and I was the adult. I should’ve done a better job with you. Believe me, I wanted to. But, it doesn’t matter in the end, Jon. What matters now is you’re here. Everything you’ve done for me, every day since you came…I’ll never forget. I’ve always loved you but the gift you’ve given me of your time and devotion is something I could never hope to repay. And this…this that you arranged for us today, I’ll never forget this either.”

Jon walked over and laid a hand on his father’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to come here when you called me. But, I wouldn’t change a bit of it now. And that’s not just because of Sansa. I’m glad I came. I’m glad we’ve had a chance to…” he trailed off no longer able to speak for fear of breaking down. He didn’t want to cry in front of strangers. He didn’t want to cry at all. His father understood that.

“I know. Let’s take your beautiful girl to lunch.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ten days later, Sansa stood staring at the empty racks and shelves. Dust swirled in the afternoon sunlight that blazed through the front window. Dust and memories were all that remained of Mr. Targaryen’s music shop.

The new owner would be taking over the shop but he planned on a complete remodel. Everything that was Rhaegar’s had been cleared out in the past four days since he’d closed the shop for the last time on Saturday afternoon. Sansa had cried when he turned the sign over and locked the door for that final time. He’d pulled her into a gruff embrace before he’d headed off to the back. Jon hadn’t been there at that moment. He was busy making some final deliveries of instruments that had been sold at a discount.

 _It was just a store. Businesses close all the time_ , she’d told herself. But it was part of Rhaegar and it hurt to let it go.

Rhaegar had passed on being here today for this final walk through before they turned the keys over. Jon was in the back giving everything a final check. Sansa ran her fingertips along the counter. She paused and her fingers began to play a tune along it in her head as though it were her piano. She closed her eyes and imagined the music. Usually, when she did this, she imagined an entire symphony accompanying her piano. Today, she only imagined a harp and a guitar.

She’d listened to the disc Jon had given her from their recording session every night for a week. She loved hearing them play together and was so happy Jon had asked her to join them. It had been a gift to them all, something they would share and something Sansa and Jon could remember Rhaegar by once he passed.

What was so odd was how happy she was at times despite knowing what was coming. She was happier now than she could remember being in years. It didn’t seem right somehow.

Rhaegar was growing weaker. She could see it in his eyes. He’d been worn out by these past few days of hard work getting the store cleared out. It was why he wasn’t here today.

But she still felt a deep, abiding happiness whenever Jon’s arms were around her. She loved hearing his laughter and seeing his eyes crinkle up when he did. Her loveseat seemed so lonely when he wasn’t sitting there next to her at night, sharing her dinner and sharing her day. She knew a profound joy to see his grey eyes filled with adoration when he held her tightly and made love to her, whether it was slow and sweet or fast and furious.

The walls she’d built years ago had been breached by Rhaegar’s friendship but completely demolished by his son. She was glad of it. She no longer missed them.

So many gifts…all from a lonely girl’s inexplicable desire to hang out in an old music shop.

“Whatcha playing?” Jon whispered in her ear.

She startled and yelped. She’d been so absorbed in the music in her head that she hadn’t heard him rejoin her.

“Just our music,” she said.

He kissed her hand and said, “ _Our_ music. I like that. I’d like to make more music with you.”

“I’d like that, too.”

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” he asked with one final glance at the shop.

“I’m ready.”

Jon laid the key on the counter and Sansa pulled the shades. They walked out hand in hand into the afternoon sun of the sweltering summer day. She refused to be sad about it just now.

 

* * *

 

 

“Okay, that poor guy sucks,” Jon muttered under his breath as the drunk frat boy belted out ‘All By Myself’ while his brothers shouted out their encouragement…and recorded him making a fool of himself. “You should get up there and sing, Sansa. You could show them how it’s done,” Jon said as the server brought him another beer.

“What?! Me?!” Sansa squeaked.

“Yes, you,” Jon nodded eagerly.

He’d had a few already. His eyes were bright and he was laughing loudly at everything either of them said. She didn’t mind. She’d never seen Jon loosen up to this extent…except in bed. Rhaegar chuckled from across the booth at them.

The three of them had went out to celebrate the closing. It had started off as a muted sort of celebration. Rhaegar had been a little downcast at the restaurant but then he’d suggested going for drinks. Both Targaryens had grown a lot livelier after that though Rhaegar had stuck to one beer saying he hoped it wouldn’t make him too sick.

It was open mike night at the bar they’d decided on and several people had gone up on stage to sing after downing some liquid courage. Sansa had only had one drink though.

“You should, Sansa,” Rhaegar urged. “I’d love to hear you.” His deep, indigo eyes were full of that passion that possessed him when it came to music. _How do I say no to you? Do I_ _even want to try and say no?_ “You’ve got a beautiful voice. Don’t be afraid to share it with others. Musical talent is a gift given by God to bring joy to others,” he said sagely.

“Now, I feel like I’m being a horrible person if I don’t get on stage,” she groused as her cheeks bloomed with color. _I could. I could do this for Rhaegar_. Muffins were one thing but she liked to think she could make him happy in other ways.

“You don’t have to, love. Dad and I just like to hear you sing.”

She looked at them both staring at her with affectionate smiles. “Oh, alright,” she said.  "I'll sing." 

Jon clapped like a little boy getting a puppy and went to put her name down for the next slot.

“Thank you, Sansa,” Rhaegar said once Jon had left. He took her hand and squeezed it.

“For singing?” she asked, though she knew it was more than that.

“No, honey. Thank you for being my friend this past year. Thank you for being a light in my life. Thank you for spending your precious time at my old shop and keeping me company and being an excellent employee. But thank you most of all for loving my son and bringing him such happiness. I know you’ll take good care of each other after I’m gone.”

Her mouth fell open and her eyes glazed with tears. She hadn’t expected to hear these words tonight. _We’ve still got time_ , she wanted to say. But she wondered how much time was left.

The frat boy stumbled and fell off the stage to a loud chorus of cheers from his brothers and thankful applause from the other patrons of the bar who were just glad he was finished singing. Sansa only half noticed the scene.

“Rhaegar…” she began.

“Go sing for me. Make people smile and want to dance with your sweet voice, angel.”

She nodded and stood to walk over to the stage.

 

Sansa drove them both home. Jon was past buzzed and edging towards drunk and Rhaegar no longer drove at night.

She smiled to herself to remember their faces as she sang. People did get up and dance. She sang old songs, stuff Rhaegar might like and her folks; Fleetwood Mac, Carly Simon and even Blondie. She got a loud round of applause when she’d finished. She liked to think they weren’t just applauding because they were glad she’d finally stopped singing.

She had decided to spend the night at Rhaegar’s. Her car was still at the apartment. Jon could drive her home in the morning before it was time for class at ten.

She washed her face and borrowed one of his soft t-shirts to wear along with her panties and crawled into his bed next to him. He was snoring but his arm circled her waist like a reflex when he felt her body against his.

“Love you,” he murmured sleepily.

She stroked his curls out of his face and kissed his forehead. “I love you, too.”

Sleep was creeping up on her when she heard a clatter from down the hall and a muffled curse.

“Jon?” she said, gently prodding him. She heard a loud sound and then glass breaking.

“Gahhddd…fffuck!”

“Jon!” she said in panic as she leapt from the bed and hurried down the hall to Rhaegar’s room.

He was in the floor of the master bathroom, his pajama bottoms tangled around his ankles. His aftershave had fallen to the floor and shattered. The towel rack had been pulled loose from the wall.

“I…fff-fell,” he muttered. He was shaking a bit.

“Rhaegar, are you hurt?” He didn’t answer. He just stared at her in confusion. “Jon!” she shouted again. She could hear him stumbling down the hall towards them.

“Who…are ya-ya-you?” Rhaegar stuttered. “Ka-Kelly? Go get…Lya-Lyanna.”

Sansa breathed in and out and told herself to be calm. His face was drawn up on one side. Her mind began to race but she had to think rationally. She tried to lift him but he was too heavy for her.

“Help me out here, Rhaegar,” she commanded.

But he didn’t. He remained dead weight in her arms and looked at her strangely. “Ca-can’t. My legs…weak.” His voice was so slurred it was hard to understand him.

Jon joined them then. He quickly shook off the sleep and alcohol enough to pick his father up. He had her help him get his pajama pants back up around his waist. He was so thin. He lifted Rhaegar in his arms with very little effort and carried him to the bed.

Jon swayed slightly as he looked down on him before he spoke. “He probably got up to piss and fell.”

“He’s disoriented. He’s weak. Jon…he needs to go to the hospital.”

“He’ll be alright,” he said stubbornly.

She turned on him sharply, ready to snap until she saw it plainly on his face…denial.

“Jon…he could be having a stroke. We need to take him to the hospital,” she said gently, taking his hand. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

He stopped arguing. His head drooped and he looked like he might collapse. Sansa left his side to grab the phone off the nightstand and dial.

Once she hung up, she saw Jon sitting on the edge of the bed, holding his father’s hand as tears streaked his cheeks.

“We were supposed to have more time,” he said sadly.

“I know,” she murmured. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “I know,” she said again because really…what else was there to say?

They stayed like that watching Rhaegar sleep until they heard the approaching sirens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Misery is a personal matter so if Jon's initial reaction to Rhaegar's stroke seems off to anyone remember that we all deal with grief in our own way. This felt organic to me though from person experience. 
> 
> Only two chapters left to this. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Lyrics from 'American Pie' by Don McLean.


	10. Chapter 10

_‘And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon_

_Little boy blue and the man in the moon_

_When you coming home, dad? I don't know when_

_But we'll get together then,_

_You know we'll have a good time then’_

 

 

The ER’s air-conditioned waiting area where he’d sat with Sansa leaned up against him half the night felt like an icebox once she got up and moved away to use the restroom. He’d thrown on a pair of jeans when the EMTs arrived at the house but he was still wearing the thin, old tee he normally wore to bed.

Sansa sat back down and toyed with his hair. She told him she’d fetch him a flannel when she stopped by the house once they were finally told something. He leaned into her touch, wanting nothing so much as her comfort. He captured her hand for a kiss.

So naturally, a physician came by to talk to them then. Jon was told his father would be moved to the ICU before long.

Once the doctor left, Jon hadn’t been able to get comfortable in the chair again. He’d started to feel irritable, like a caged beast.

Around 3AM, he’d walked over to the gift shop and bought a pack of smokes. He took two or three long drags in the fresh night air of the designated smoking area until two older women came out into the courtyard to join him. He’d listened to their hacking coughs and gravelly voices for about five minutes…then thrown the rest of the pack away before rejoining Sansa. She’d bought him a water and some gum while he’d been outside.

“I’ll be back as quick as I can. Try to rest some,” she said as she handed over the water before she left to fetch some comforts for Rhaegar, herself and him.

Jon’s eyes were tired but he couldn’t seem to rest. It seemed like the longest night of his life. He’d had long nights performing in the past; nights he’d stayed out all night partying after a concert, nights he’d wound up in a stranger’s bed after a few too many, nights where he’d woken the next morning feeling like shit, hungover and remorseful of his excesses. None of them could compare to the raw, exposed sort of pain though that this night left in him.

Rhaegar had finally been moved from the ER to the ICU a bit later while Jon was busy filling out paperwork. He had called Jon Connington after that and brought him up to speed. And still he sat downstairs, hoping Sansa would be back soon.

It was nearly 5AM when the automatic doors whooshed open letting him pass into the ICU. Sansa hadn’t returned yet. He was facing this walk alone.

 _She’ll be here soon_.

The doors whooshed closed behind him.

A long, sterile hallway stretched out before him and Jon did not wish to go. Something waited at the end. Something he wasn’t prepared to face.

 _There was something I needed to_ _find first_ , he thought remembering the dream he’d had the night they’d returned from up north. But whatever it was, he could not remember what it was now. _It wasn’t real. It_ _was only a dream. I wish_ this _were a dream_.

“May I help you?” a nurse asked from the desk. She was a few years older; a lovely woman, sandalwood eyes and a friendly smile.

“Um…my father was moved up here a little while ago. I’m not sure which room or…”

“It’s not visiting hours right now but tell me his name and we’ll see if we can let you see him for just a bit.”

“It’s Rhaegar Targaryen…T-A-R-G-A-R-Y-E-N.”

The nurse looked at her computer and spent a few seconds tapping on the keyboard. Jon noticed the way her brow furrowed and then the sympathetic look she gave him when their eyes met again.

“He’s in 302, honey. It’s all the way at the end. You can go see him.”

“But it’s not visiting hours,” Jon protested. “I can wait if…”

The nurse shook her head and said, “You can visit. You don’t have to wait for visiting hours.”

_Because he’s going to die. Visiting hours apply for patients they expect to recover, people who need peace and quiet to rest between visitors. Patients who are dying can be seen by their loved ones whenever they want._

“Thank you,” Jon mumbled to the nurse. He stood right where he was though, his heart pounding and his hands sweating.

_I need…I want Sansa._

The nurse came around from behind the desk. “I’m Chataya, honey. What’s your name?”

“I'm Jon.”

“Okay, Jon. You want me to walk you down?”

 _Yes_. “No, I’m fine. Thanks.” _I’m not ten. I can do this_.

He nodded to the nurse and started to move. She returned to her post after giving him an encouraging smile.

It was quiet this time of morning. He glanced into the visitor’s waiting room where small groups of people were napping or talking quietly together as they awaited their chance to see their loved ones again. The bright glare of the florescent lights seemed at odds with the silence.

 _It should be dimmer, more peaceful_ , Jon thought.

The janitorial staff was busy mopping the floors and changing sheets in empty rooms. Nurses were moving about but there was no immediate rush. Jon didn’t see a physician until he got closer to his father’s room.

But outside his father’s room there was no mistaking that the grey bearded man with thinning hair and glasses was a doctor. He was talking to a nurse with short black hair.

“We’ll try to buff him up and see if he can go home but it’s not likely. We can get hospice in place if he wakes…” The man stopped speaking as he noticed Jon. “Are you a relative of Mr. Targaryen?”

“I’m his son.”

“Oh. I’m Dr. Seaworth,” he said extending his hand. Jon shook it numbly. “I’ll let you go and see your father and then come in and give you an update, alright?”

“Right…thanks.”

Jon pushed open the door and heard the humming of different machines. There were electronic beeps as those machines monitored his father’s vital signs. There was a rhythm to the sounds…but not truly musical at all.

_Dad wouldn’t like it. He’d say, ‘Turn these goddamn noisemakers off so I can rest.’_

A stroke. He’d had a stroke. Several small ones over the past few weeks…TIAs the doctor had called them. And then a more significant one. The ER doctor had said it was not uncommon. _Not uncommon how?_ Jon had wanted to ask. But the damage from this stroke combined with his frail health from the cancer were bringing things to an end more rapidly than Jon could’ve ever anticipated.

Twelve hours ago, they’d went to dinner to celebrate the sale of the shop. Nine hours ago, Jon had drunk too much and Sansa had sung karaoke at the bar they’d went to at his urging and his father’s. His father had been delighted listening to Sansa sing. He’d teased Jon for drinking too much and smiling like a lovesick fool at his girl up on stage.

“Don’t let that one go, Buddy,” he’d said. “You’d be a fool to let her get away.”

Now, he stood beside a hospital bed and looked down on his father wondering where the time had gone. _How did we wind up here so quick?_

“Get some sleep, Old Man,” he’d said as he swayed slightly and leaned on Sansa when they’d got home that night. Those were the last words he’d spoken to his father while he was awake and conscious. “I love you,” was what he wished he’d said now.

He reached out and lightly touched his father’s silver hair. His breathing seemed shallow. _What the fuck do I know though?_ His eyes were closed and he slept. _Coma…he’s not_ _just sleeping_.

The door opened behind him and Jon expected Dr. Seaworth. He felt the goosebumps form across his neck and arms when he heard her voice, tender and loving.

“Hey.”

He gasped and shuddered where he stood, looking down at his dying father. He choked off a sob.

“Jon.”

He choked off another and shook his head. He felt angry. He’d rather be angry than face this. He’d rather be angry than cry now.

“Don’t hold it in now, baby,” she said.

Her hand brushed his elbow and a whine he didn’t want to release passed between his lips. She’d moved across the room silently. She was right behind him.

All through the long night, he’d fought it. He’d sat beside her for hours keeping his emotions in check the best he could. He’d waited. He’d wanted answers. He’d wanted to hear Rhaegar cursing them all for poking and prodding him. He’d wanted to curse them, too. He’d wanted to hear them say his father would be fine. He wasn’t going to hear that though…not ever again. And now, he couldn’t hold it in a single moment longer.

Jon turned towards her and felt his knees start to buckle. Sansa’s arms grasped his. She was stronger than she looked. She was there before he could fall.

An angry roar of grief escaped and he surrendered at last. The next sob sounded more like laughter and was given up freely. He sagged heavily against her, letting her hold him while he wept. The ache in his chest was still there but just a bit lighter as he stopped fighting and allowed himself to just feel.

“I thought we’d have more time,” he whimpered several minutes later.

He was hiccupping like a child after a hard cry. Sansa had a tissue, wiping the tears and snot from his face. His voice was scarcely recognizable as his own. It was as though a boy was speaking through a man’s voice.

He’d grieved before and been ripped apart inside by his mother’s death. No one had comforted him like this then. But this was different somehow, not more significant…just different.

“Me, too,” she said. Her hands rubbed up and down his arms, a soothing pattern to their movements bringing some semblance of normalcy back to him with every caress. She cupped his face in her hands and looked him in the eye. “I love you, Jon Targaryen. I’ll be by your side. You are not alone in this.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Jon?” she mumbled as he climbed into his bed for the first time in two nights.

“I’m here. Connington sent me home to get a few hours of sleep in something other than a visitor’s chair.”

Sansa rolled over to face him and kissed his brow, his cheeks, his lips. He wrapped his arms around her.

“That’s funny. Seems like someone told me to do the same earlier.”

“Yeah.”

“Any change?”

“No change. Sansa…can you hold me?” he asked. She nodded in the darkened room. She wasn’t sure if he could see but he rolled towards the edge of the bed and she pressed her chest into his back and held him securely. She threw a leg over his and enjoyed the feel of his skin on her bare feet. “Will you touch me?” he asked next. “Not in a…not sexually. Will you just…”

She kissed the back of his neck and her hand began a lazy circuit, up his arm and back, trailing along his hip to his thigh and then up to his shoulder again.

“I love you,” she murmured in his ear.

“I love you, too,” he said.

Up and down, gently touching him. She hummed a tune quietly in his ear. It was his song...the one Rhaegar had composed.

His breathing grew deeper before he drifted off to sleep. She watched him sleep for a time by the luminous blue light of the bedside clock. She loved him so. She hoped he knew how much he meant to her.

He was up three hours later. He had showered and dressed as she slept on. He bent down to give her a good-bye kiss.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. I thought I’d get back. Will you go to class today?”

“Yes, but I’ll be by right after,” she said.

"Good.  I don't want you missing any more than necessary.  And, I know I'll see you soon."  He walked towards the bedroom door and Sansa started to rise.  He turned back and his eyes were so soft and loving when he said, "Thank you, Sansa.”

 

* * *

 

 

Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’ was running through his mind and wouldn’t stop. _A brilliant but dismal bastard_ , Rhaegar thought bemusedly to himself as he allowed the piece to run its course while Jonny drove him to the house. He would never sleep tonight if the piece wasn’t allowed to reach its conclusion.

“We were good out there,” Jonny said as the car rolled to a stop out front.

“We were,” Rhaegar agreed. “See you around, old friend.”

“Yeah, see you around.”

Four weeks they’d been on the road playing big band music at different venues. He wondered what had brought Beethoven to mind tonight instead of Miller or Goodman.

The front porch light was on but he headed up the walk to the garage and cut through the breezeway to the back door.

“Lya! I’m home!” he called as he came in a little after 9PM.

He was eager to see them both. He put his suitcase down in the mudroom and pulled his jacket off to hang on the peg by the door. He could hear the old dryer clunking ominously in the corner. _On your last legs, you son of a bitch. Another bill around the corner_.

He passed through to the kitchen. Something was warming in the oven. It smelled like meatloaf. He smiled gratefully. Lyanna just always knew. He’d eat a tire right now if someone put it on a plate in front of him and gave him a bottle of ketchup. He was famished.

“Hey! Anyone alive in here?” he called again, projecting his voice towards the ceiling this time.

“Daddy!” he heard the little voice call from up the stairs. He smiled wider to hear him. _My sweet boy_.

“No, Jon,” he heard Lyanna say, “Stay in bed and your father will come up to tuck you in shortly.”

“Hey, Buddy! I’ll be up in a minute!” he hollered. He’d rather let the boy come down but he wouldn’t vex Lyanna if he could help it.

Jon would be five soon. He’d meant to pick up a present on the road for him but there just never seemed to be enough time. _Tomorrow, I’ll get him something tomorrow_.

Lyanna came down in her faded teal bath robe with her hair pinned up. She gave him a tired smile and crossed her arms as she stood in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” she said with a smirk.

He chuckled and walked over to take her in his arms. “This cat is one lucky bastard to have a gorgeous girl like you waiting for him at home.”

“Gorgeous, huh?” she asked as she gave her robe a sardonic glance.

“Yeah, gorgeous…and all mine.”

She sighed and let him kiss her. “I missed you.”

“I know, Lyanna…but that was it. Last gig for me. The shop will be up and running soon and I’ll be home every night.”

“Rhae, I wouldn’t want you to…resent this,” she said carefully.

He bit the inside of his cheek. He was giving up the road for her and Jon. He had a lot of feelings about it. He would do anything for them but it did feel like part of him was dying with this decision.

But right now, he just wanted her to feel positive about it. Because if she wasn’t positive, he sure as hell would struggle with it.

“I’ll be fine, darling,” he said.

She gave him a brighter smile. “Meatloaf’s in the oven if you’re hungry.”

“I’m starved,” he said meaningfully as his eyes trailed up and down her figure.

She slapped his shoulder and laughed. “Later. Jon’s still awake. He’s waited up to see you. He’s missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed him, too. I’ve missed you both.” Lyanna guided him to the table and took the meatloaf out. She started to dish him up a plate. He wanted to see his boy. “Hey, Buddy! Come on down here and hug your old man!” he called.

“He can’t, Rhae,” Lyanna said tonelessly. “He can’t come down.”

“Oh, come on, Lya. I promise not to rile him up or anything. I’ll tuck him in real soon. I just wanna see my son.”

“No, Rhae. He doesn’t belong here with us.”

Her voice was suddenly sad and the lighting was all wrong. The warm kitchen lights were replaced with a blueish white light that glowed outside the window over the sink. It grew brighter and brighter. Rhaegar didn’t want to look at it.

He wanted to see his son race down the stairs and leap into his arms. He wanted to smell his sweet skin when he was fresh from the bath before bedtime. He wanted to hear his childish laughter. He wanted to run his hand through the soft curls that covered his head.

Her faded teal robe was gone. She wore a soft gray dress. _The one we buried her in_. Lyanna’s hair was shorter. She looked older, sadder.

“Why can’t I see him, Lyanna?”

“He can’t join us here…not yet.”

“What happened to us, baby?” he asked.

She didn’t answer the question.  She just said, "Trust me, Rhae." She took his hand and turned to face the window.

 

* * *

 

 

Four days of slow decline until the end came at last. Sansa had attended classes yesterday at Jon and Mr. Connington’s urging.

“Rhaegar was so excited for you to graduate, dear girl,” Mr. Connington had said. “He wouldn’t want you to miss your classes.”

He was true to his friend to the end and a steadying presence for Jon and Sansa both now.

But this morning, Jon had called as Sansa was finishing an essay at her apartment. She’d been listening to old music her dad liked as she worked. Don McLean was crooning about Buddy Holly. It was a song of life and loss, melancholic but with a touch of joy at the same time.

“Sansa, can you come? Dr. Seaworth says…it’s almost time.”

 _The song is almost done_. “I’ll be there,” she said.

She raced to the hospital and found Jon waiting downstairs outside the coffee shop.

“Baby,” she said searching his face, afraid she was too late. “What are you doing down here?”

“I was…I wanted to wait for you,” he said before burying his face in her hair.

“Of course. Let’s go together.”

They rode the elevator in silence but Jon had her hand tightly clasped within in own. When the doors opened, Sansa started towards the automatic doors and felt a slight resistance from Jon. He hesitated and he looked for reassurance.

“It’s okay. I’m right here with you.”

He started walking then. The doors whooshed open before them and she gave a subtle wave to Chataya. The older woman smiled, a kind and giving sort of smile. Her eyes moved from Sansa’s over to Jon’s face and then back.

 _I know, I know_ , Sansa wanted to say. _I’m here for him_.

Jon and Sansa both peered into the visitor’s waiting room. Families were there waiting. Waiting for their loved ones to recover…or waiting for them to die. The great waiting game of life.

She’d got to know several of them over the past four days. It seemed odd to think these strangers who no longer felt like strangers would go back to being strangers again before long.

 _And what of us?_ she thought as she looked down at Jon’s hand holding her own. _Without Rhaegar between us, will we last?_

 _Now is not the time for that question_ , she reminded herself.

They stood outside 302 and Jon drew a deep breath before he pushed the door open. The room had just been mopped but the antiseptic cleanser couldn’t quite disguise the pervading scent of death.

The machines whirred and beeped, a discordant cacophony of sound today. Jarring…not musical at all.

Chataya followed them inside. Dr. Seaworth was there. He finished scribbling on Rhaegar’s chart and patted Jon on the shoulder before he left the room.

Sansa walked over to the bedside and looked down at her old friend. She took his hand and Jon took his other.

 _A circle_ , Sansa thought as she grasped Jon’s free hand across Rhaegar’s chest. _We form a circle. You’ll be a part of us always_.

“He looks like he’s dreaming,” she whispered. “Sort of content…more at ease.”

“I hope he is. His color looks better than yesterday,” Chataya added.

Sansa wanted to ask if they were sure there wasn’t some mistake. Perhaps he would hang on a bit longer. There wasn’t a mistake though.

She’d called her parents last night. She’d told them her friend was dying, that the days were growing short for him. It just seemed like something they might want to know. Her father had asked her to call when the end came and let him know. Looked like she might be calling him again sooner than she’d thought.

One of the machines started beeping loudly, more rapidly...jarring, irritating.  Jon nearly snarled. His grip on her hand tightened. Sansa winched at the annoying sound but Chataya calmly stepped over and pushed some buttons. The whirring and beeping noises ended. It was silent in the room at long last…peaceful.

“His heart has stopped,” Chataya said a moment later. Both of their heads popped up and looked to the nurse with wide and questioning eyes. She nodded and said, “He’s gone.” In unison, they looked back at Rhaegar. Jon’s face screwed up in a pained grimace but he did not cry this time. Sansa felt the tears already sliding down her cheeks. “I’ll give you the room,” Chataya said before she quietly left them.

Twenty minutes later, they walked back through the hall and rode down the elevator to the first floor where all manner of activity was going on.  They passed strangers chatting on their cell phones, people arguing with family members about decisions to be made, children crying over candy at the gift shop. 

No one took any note of the two people who had just watched a loved one die.  It was as if they were playing a role.  There were no tears on their cheeks.  The pair of them were perhaps a bit stoic looking as they headed off to face their day...with one less person in their life.  The tears could wait until they made it home away from the eyes of strangers.

 

* * *

 

 

The wake was livelier than Jon would’ve expected. He hadn’t planned on one at all. He thought the funeral would be sparsely attended and didn’t know if a wake was warranted beforehand. But Connington had other ideas.

“Can we wake him at your house, Jon?” Connington had asked. 

"It’s not my house,” was Jon’s only response.

“It is now, son,” Connington had said.

His father hadn’t been a practicing Catholic in years and years but he nodded and let the older man arrange it as he pleased.

Sam had come down for the funeral and offered his condolences along with some of the guys from the studio and Nights Watch. Jon was surprised those guys had made the drive just for him…and was very touched by it as well.

Connington had spread the word to his father’s bandmates and there were musicians and friends from all over there to pay their respects. Jon wondered how long it’d been since Rhaegar had seen some of their faces. Years and years. He wished they had come around sooner. He wished his father could see how many of them still cared.

_He was alone for so long. Didn’t you know? When they divorced, he was alone. When she died and I walked away from him, he was even more alone. Until Sansa walked into his shop and into his life._

He could not find it in his heart to be angry at any of them though. Not when he still had his own guilt to process. They’d come to pay their respects now anyway, to a fellow musician and a friend. The leader of their band.

They sat around his father’s living room and kitchen sharing stories of the road and sold-out performances from decades ago. Some brought instruments and soft but joyful music could be heard in every corner of Rhaegar’s old house. Somehow, it seemed quite fitting and Jon was grateful once again to his father’s friend for arranging this.

Three of his father’s buddies from the Army even showed though his dad had rarely talked of his days in the service. But these men talked. They told him stories about Corporal Targaryen that Jon doubted even his mother had ever heard. It did his heart good to hear them…though it hurt to think he’d never get to hear his father’s gruff version of these events.

He was surprised at the sound of his own laughter as he listened to their stories and fiascos of young men in service together, brothers in arms who acted like teenagers skipping school during leave. Laughter was a harsh and foreign sound to his ears these past few days.  Any laughter he heard at the hospital drew a sharp look from him.  But now it rolled off his own tongue like honey. He caught Sansa’s eyes sparkling at him in response.

Sansa stayed by his side throughout as he shook hands and accepted the sympathies of people he had never met before this night. He would’ve gotten down on his knees and praised her in front of the entire house full of people for being here for him if he didn’t know how uncomfortable that would’ve made her. If not for Sansa though, this would’ve been… _Impossible, maybe_. These past three months would’ve been so different without the sweet young woman Rhaegar had hired and invited into his life. 

Ned and Catelyn Stark had driven down for the funeral. They’d elected to stay at a hotel but would be at the funeral tomorrow. They stood off to the side and spoke with Sam most of the evening. He was glad they’d come, glad for them to be there to support Sansa in her own grief. At the time, he didn’t realize they’d come to support him, too.

 

That night after the wake when they were alone together in the house at last, he slipped between the sheets and caressed her bare shoulder before kissing it. She was in a camisole and a pair of his boxers. He’d left off his shirt. She rolled towards him with a sleepy smile. He knew what he wanted tonight but he felt bad asking. He kissed her hungrily to show it but then pulled back and waited. He wouldn’t force this on her…not ever. But if she were willing…

“Yes,” she sighed as she opened her arms to him.

He rolled her to her back and kissed her long and lovingly before he made his way down to her breasts. Her breath hitched as he began to lick a nipple. Her hands fisted through his hair. A soft moan came from her and Jon was hard. He pressed himself against her center though they were still clothed...barely.

“I love you,” he said. They removed only what was necessary and, as he eased himself inside the moist, tight heat of Sansa, he said it again, “I love you. I’d never have made it through all this…”

“You would’ve. But I’m glad you didn’t have to face this alone.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

She kissed him to cut off any more talk and he eagerly kissed her back. He started thrusting and got caught up in the rhythm and the sensation of making love, forgetting his grief and loss for a time. He cried out her name soon after she had climaxed and collapsed beside her, sated and relaxed.

Up and down, her hand traced along his arm, then trailed along his hip and thigh before making its way back up to his shoulder.

“Jon?” she began, pausing her hand's movement.

“Yeah?”

“I…I love you, baby.”

He heard it then, the plaintive tone of need. How could he reassure her that he’d give her anything and everything she wanted from him for as long as she wanted?

He was growing sleepy from the magic of her soft touch but he raised his head and said quietly but sincerely, “Sansa, I will love you my whole life…and I want to spend all of my life by your side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from 'Cats in the Cradle' by Harry Chapin.
> 
> I never intended to write a long and drawn out death for Rhaegar in this story. It was always my intention for a complication (a stroke in this case) to come along and take him out sooner than Jon expected because, as cruel as it seems, that's just how life goes sometimes. 
> 
> This story is not a repeat of what happened to my own father; however, there are strong similarities and some parts of this fic are definitely drawn directly from memory. We thought we had more time. The doctors all said he'd improve and it'd be an adjustment but he'd get to go home in the end. We thought we'd learn to adapt to the new reality of his illness and disability. But the reality was we never got that chance. They were wrong and he never came home again...not to his home here with us anyway. It was a bitter pill to swallow and one that's taken me years to accept. Actually, I'm not sure I've ever truly accepted it. We just learn to deal with it and move on.
> 
> The next chapter will be the last. It will be an epilogue of sorts of where Jon and Sansa go from here and it will be a happy and hopeful ending for them at least. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The soft epilogue they deserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few time jumps ahead!

_‘The leader of the band is tired_

_And his eyes are growing old_

_But his blood runs through my instrument_

_And his song is in my soul_

_My life has been a poor attempt_

_To imitate the man_

_I’m just the living legacy to the leader of the band’_

 

 

“Are you ready, Jon?” Sansa asked from the bench where they sat beneath the Oak tree about 30 yards away from Rhaegar Targaryen’s final resting place.

“Soon, sweetheart,” he replied before he kissed her hand and rose from where he had sat beside her the past fifteen minutes.

The summer day was hot and the grave was still covered with straw. The grass would come later. It was dry and Jon hoped it would rain in a day or two like the weatherman said.

The rectangular plot of freshly laid dirt covered with straw stood out amongst all the green.

_Dad wouldn’t like that. He never wanted to stand out…except on stage._

He’d come to take a look at the marker that had been laid down yesterday. But it was blistering hot and he and Sansa had sought the shade of the trees soon after their arrival.

They had watched from their bench as a very old man carried daisies to a grave not far from where his parents were buried. He plucked the slightly wilted carnations from the vase and replaced them with the daisies. Fresh flowers for the dead.

“His wife probably,” Sansa had said sadly as he stood and looked down on the place where the bones of someone that had mattered laid.

“Probably,” Jon had agreed. _Or his mother…or a daughter_ , he thought to himself.

The man didn’t notice them in the shadows so they kept silent. He spoke some words to his dead loved one but they were carried away by the wind. He had left soon after.

Jon hadn’t been here in years. He felt guilty over it…but then what would the dead care? If he grieved for her here and brought her flowers every day, it wouldn’t bring her back. Was it not enough that he mourned her inside his home as he lay in bed some nights, or when he was alone in the car on a long drive, or any time he heard her name…or the words cancer or mother? What did it matter how often he stood at her grave so long as he didn’t forget her?

_What would you think, Dad? Did you come here after she died? Did you bring her flowers once in a while?  After we stopped speaking for a time? I’ll never know now._

He left Sansa waiting in the shade and walked over to pay his respects to them both now at least.

“I hope you don’t mind, Mom,” he said to the grass that covered her remains.

A week had passed since his father had been buried alongside Jon’s mother. He hoped she wouldn’t have minded if she knew.

She’d got the pair of burial plots in the divorce and told Jon when he was around eighteen that one of them was for her and he could have the other someday. But, his father needed burying and Jon hoped his own demise was still many years away. Besides…he might prefer his bones lie next to a woman other than his mother for all eternity. Assuming he didn’t just opt for cremation.

_Dead is dead. What difference will it make then?_

_‘You always were such a broody little fuck,’_ he could practically here Rhaegar chuckling in his ear.

A door to door salesman had come around selling plots at the brand-new Heartland Memorial Gardens when Jon was around two. He’d found Mrs. Rhaegar Targaryen alone at home with her young son and eager for a friendly adult to talk to…if only for a little while. She’d been an easy sell for the guy after three weeks at home with just a toddler and daytime soaps for company.

He remembered his parents laughing over it a few years later when they had another couple over for cards and beer after Jon went to bed. He had been around eight then and snuck out of bed to hear what the grownups were laughing over so loudly and so late at night.

He spied them from around the corner of the stairs. His father was flushed and loud but he wasn’t cross tonight. His mother was laughing more than Jon usually heard her do. Their friends were having a good time as well.

“I swear,” Rhaegar laughed. “We fought like it was the end of the world a couple of nights later when I came home and she told me she’d bought us the damned plots from some stranger knocking on the door. I mean, final resting places being sold door to door…like he was selling a fucking vacuum cleaner.”

“We couldn’t even afford a vacuum cleaner back then,” his mother added, giggling into the can of beer she held. “But I signed the damned paperwork so we were stuck with another monthly bill. We stood here in the living room dancing like fools the night we paid it off three years later. What a morbid pair we were,” she said raising her can in toast to his father. “Celebrating over paying off our future home.”

Their friends laughed as his dad made a production of clashing his beer can into his mother’s. Jon laughed at their antics as well…too loudly.

“Ah ha! A mouse in the house, Lyanna!” his father shouted when his eyes had spied the boy at the bottom of the steps.

“Jon! Get up those stairs and back in bed this instant,” his mother said but he could tell she wasn’t really angry.

“No! No! I’ll catch the mouse first!” his father said before he ran towards him. Jon screeched and dashed up the stairs but his old man caught him at the top. “Gotcha, Buddy!” he shouted triumphantly before pulling him into a hug. He carried him under his arm back to his room as Jon laughed helplessly in his father’s arms.

“Dad? What did Mom buy? What were the plots she bought?” he asked as his father tucked him back in.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” his father said ruffling his hair. But Jon must’ve looked stubborn because his father relented. “Just a place to put our bones when we die is all.” Jon’s eyes widened in surprised. He started frowning. “Look, buddy. You know how much I love your mom, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, someday…when we’re gone, I’d like to think that I can always be with my girl.”

“Won’t you be together in Heaven?”

“That’s what the Padre says, isn’t it?” his father said with a curious smile. “But what I mean is here…on Earth. When I’m a hundred and three and your mom’s ninety-nine and you’ve given us a dozen grandkids and countless great-grandkids and we finally kick the bucket, I want to be with your mom, okay?”

“Okay, Dad,” Young Jon had said.

Jon wiped his eyes and felt the breeze pick up, drying the tracks of his tears where they had fallen.

_I really hope you don’t mind, Mom._

And, as he had stood at the graveside and heard the peaceful sound of the wind blowing through the leaves and melodious windchimes that carried from the neighborhood on the other side of the tree line, he felt the warm summer sun shining on the back of his neck and suspected she didn’t mind one bit.

 

* * *

 

 

Two weeks later, Jon sat down his coffee mug and noisily blew his streaming nose. The summer cold had struck with a vengeance about ten days after Rhaegar’s passing and neither he nor Sansa had escaped its wrath. Both debated whether they’d picked up the germ at the hospital or from all the hands they’d shook in the days after that but ultimately agreed it didn’t really matter. It just sucked.

Jon’s cold, as he was the first infected, was already passing but poor Sansa had been practically bed-ridden for the past three days. Her cold had developed into a severe upper respiratory and sinus infection and he’d finally drug her, threatening to carry her there over his shoulder if necessary, to the student clinic on campus a couple of days ago. He’d tried not to look too smug when she’d returned to him in the waiting room thirty minutes later with her prescription for antibiotics and the doctor’s instructions.

She’d finally felt like eating a bit last night and as Jon was perusing the paper that was still being delivered daily for now, she came downstairs…dressed for class.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked peering over the top of the paper with his glasses perched on his nose.

“School, Dad,” she grumbled as she poured herself some coffee. He smiled to himself remembering his father giving him a similar look over the top of the morning journal not so long ago. “I’m so close to graduation. I’m not withdrawing now and having to stick around for the Fall semester. God, this shit is strong,” she gasped next and went to get some milk out of the fridge to add to it.

“Sorry, I like it strong. Are you sure you’re up to going?” he asked, reaching over to feel her brow for fever once she took a seat.

She smiled softly then, her cool hand capturing his own before he could withdraw it. “Yeah. I’ll manage today, I think.”

He leaned across the table and kissed her on the tip of her nose and said, “Okay. You can text me if you need me to pick you up anything. I’m meeting with the realtor later to see what she thinks of the house but I’ve not got any other big plans.”

“You’re definitely selling it?”

“No. Just getting an opinion.”

They sipped their coffee in silence (other than the odd sniffle, sneeze or cough) but companionably enough before it was time for her to go. She was practically to the door when she turned and asked, “Jon? Did you return Sam’s call last night?”

“Nah, not yet.” She opened her mouth but he cut her off. “I got busy last night if you’ll recall.” He was trying to be cool about it but he felt the heat rise to his face along with the urge to give her a devilish grin.

She laughed and said, “I recall. Who knew orgasms were such an effective cold remedy? You can’t go more than three minutes without blowing your nose for a week but when my pussy’s in your face, it’s like you’re cured.”

“Not cured…just eager to bring you that endorphin rush to speed your recovery, sweetheart. And if you say the word pussy again, I may not be able to let you out the door.”

They stood there grinning at each other and then Sansa said, “So, about Sam…”

“I’m thinking about it, okay?” he said a touch irritably. He folded up the paper and laid it down.

“That’s fine. I’m not…I’m not pushing you away, Jon.”

“It feels like it a bit,” he said in frustration. _Like the broody little fuck you are_.

“I’m not, baby. I swear. I just don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck here the rest of the summer because of me. And the offer with the Free Folk sounds like a good option since Nights Watch has a guy to fill in for now. It’s your career and…”

“Sansa…I’m not worried about my career.”

“Okay. Sorry. I shouldn’t push.”

“You’re fine, sweetheart,” he relented at last. He knew she loved him. There were many things he wasn’t sure of and didn’t know what to do about right now but he didn’t really doubt her. “You’re allowed to have a say in this and I appreciate the support and concern. Sam’s really the one doing all the pushing anyway. You’re just being supportive.”

She walked back over to the table and he wrapped his arms around her waist as she stood over him, dropping a kiss on top of his head. “I love you, Jon.”

“I know, Sansa. I love you, too. Get to school and then come back home and help me with another endorphin rush, yeah?”

“You got it,” she snickered before she headed out the door.

Once she was gone, he put his head in his hands and wondered what to do. She was right. He couldn’t sit here in his father’s house indefinitely, not if he wanted to keep his career alive after a nearly four-month break.

Touring with the Free Folk would allow him to focus on music and get back into things. They weren’t traveling all over the country either, just an eight-week stint in the tri-state area. Ygritte was the lead singer and she’d asked Sam if Jon would be interested and available since their lead guitarist had quit after a fight with their manager the other day.

He’d need to tell Sansa about their past before he agreed to this though. Ygritte was just a friend now but they’d once been more than that. And there was no way he was losing Sansa over a misunderstanding about his ex.

_It’s already July. She’ll be done in August and she could join me on the road for a bit if she likes._

Suddenly, the idea held a bit more appeal. He picked up his phone and called Sam.

 

* * *

 

 

“Fuck, Sansa,” he cried as she wept in ecstasy beneath him. “ _Mmm_ …goddamn it, sweetheart. Your pussy is so tight. I can feel you coming. Fuck…you’re so tight on my dick. _Ahhh_ …I’m coming, baby.”

His thrusts were becoming erratic and he gripped her more tightly…just as her cunt was gripping him. His hand reached back to adjust her leg around him more firmly before he pounded into her harder, grunting with the effort now.

“Come, baby. Oh, Jon…come for me,” she gasped as she felt another wave wash over her at just his words and the way he was biting back a low growl now. Her climax went on and on like the thunderstorm that rumbled outside the window. “Fuck me…Jon… _unnn_ …YES! YES!”

Just like the first night they’d made love in her apartment, it had rained and stormed all night. Some might’ve thought that ominous before they parted but Sansa didn’t see it that way.

 _The storm washes us clean. And we’ll be together again soon enough_.

“Shit,” he panted before he rolled off her soon after. “How am I supposed to leave you, sweetheart?”

“Just five weeks…and you promise to call every night,” she reminded him.

“Five weeks…and then you promise to join me?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she said.

They shared a passionate kiss before she rose to use that bathroom.

It had been a month since Rhaegar had died and Jon had agreed to the late summer tour with the Free Folk. School would be finishing in early August and Sansa would graduate. Her folks and siblings would all be there…and Jon. Jon would be sure to be there, too.

She had already let her apartment go and was staying in Rhaegar’s house with Jon. But as of today, she’d soon be alone here for a time. At least there would be memories of Rhaegar here with her. Rhaegar’s harp sat in the corner of the living room, covered by a sheet. And every time she walked into the kitchen, she would think of his smile the morning she’d brought him muffins.

Jon had decided to sell the house but wanted to wait until after the tour to bother cleaning it out to put it on the market.

Sansa had spent an hour on the phone with Arya a couple of days earlier and made plans to spend a weekend away with her sister post-graduation. They needed time together after so much time apart.

But then she would join Jon on tour for the last three weeks and get a taste of life on the road.

He’d told her about his past relationship with Ygritte and waited for her blessing before he accepted. She’d easily given him that.

There was a part of Sansa that still harbored some doubts…but they weren’t about him. Those were more about herself. This was a test of sorts. If they could make it through this time apart and still feel the same about each other...and if they could make it through three weeks on the road together and not be ready to kill each other, then maybe what Jon had said about spending the rest of his life by her side truly had a chance of happening.

 

* * *

 

 

The Free Folk’s tour was almost over and she’d enjoyed the time on the road with Jon, Ygritte, Tormund and Mance. They were a likable group of people though a bit wilder than any crowd she’d ever run with. But nice people…good people.

 _Not like Joffrey at all. Who wants a wealthy guy who’s a shit? I’ll take Jon’s friends any day_.

However, the Nights Watch had extended their own tour and the other fill-in guy they’d got for their regular guitarist when Jon couldn’t fill in had announced he couldn’t stick with them through the Fall. So, Jon was going to take that gig with Sansa’s blessings and Ygritte’s curses.

“Traitor,” Ygritte teased him one of their last nights on the road.

“Hey! I was going to tour with them originally anyway!” Jon spluttered.

Sansa was snuggled up against him on the tour bus and trying to get some sleep. “Would you two shut it? I’m exhausted and we’re still three hours from the hotel.”

“Just wait till I get you home, sweetheart. I won’t let you sleep for a week,” he said huskily in her ear making her blush.

“Christ,” Ygritte muttered. “You two are sickeningly sweet together.” The other redhead flicked a rubber band at Jon making him yelp. “Hey, Sansa. When we get back in the studio in a few weeks, we’re going to be working on a new album. Mance has written some pieces that include the piano. You interested?”

“You are not stealing my girlfriend away,” Jon huffed.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Targaryen…unless she’d like to be stolen,” she added with a wink.

Sansa grinned and said, “I’ll consider it,” before she settled into Jon’s arms and fell asleep.

That next morning, Sansa had called her parents and talked about the road and Ygritte’s offer.

“That sounds promising, honey. But will you come home to us for a bit…after this tour is over?” her father asked over the phone.

“Yes. I’ll come spend a couple of weeks there if you can stand me that long,” Sansa said.

“That would be wonderful. Your mom and I would love to have more time with you.”

 _More time. Yes, more time is something we’d all like to have_.

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you serious, Sam?” Jon asked on the phone from his apartment that November.

The tour had finally ended and Jon and Sansa were settling into his apartment in the city at last for a time. Sansa was upstairs putting clothes away in the dresser drawers. She noticed the bra and yoga pants from her previous trip to Jon’s place in the city were gone. He’d also cleared out half the closet for her. They were planning to go back…to clear out Rhaegar’s house and put it on the market but somehow with the touring and hectic schedules in general, they’d not managed it yet.

“It’s not going anywhere,” Jon had said.

He’d asked a neighbor to keep an eye on the house for him and he was making the trip down once a month to check on it.

But now they were finally starting to settle in to his place… _our place_ …together.

Sansa stared at the loft bedroom that lacked three walls and looked over the railing to Jon down below as he paced and talked on the phone. He was running his hand through his hair and glanced up and caught her watching. He grinned at her and indicated he’d be through soon.

Sansa rolled her eyes at him… and then, yanked her shirt off and flashed him causing him to squeak into the phone and making her to laugh. He thundered up the stairs ten seconds later with a feral look in his eyes after rudely hanging up on Sam.

There were no walls or door to the loft…nothing to hide behind. She didn’t miss them.

“I can’t believe you hung up on Sam that way,” she said and then shrieked when he picked her up and tossed her on the mattress.

“I believe we both know I’ve got a thing for your tits, Stark,” he replied as he started unbuckling his belt.

“Yeah…I may have noticed,” she replied breathlessly, already getting wet in anticipation.

He pulled off his shirt and then her sweatpants. He nestled up against her once they were down to their underwear.

“Jon…what did Sam want now? Not another tour?” she asked. 

Life on the road was exciting in a way. But it was tiresome and filled with constant movement. Sansa was looking forward to this time together, a new chapter in their life.

“No,” Jon said, kissing her brow and then her cheeks and neck. “He said he played our music…the music we recorded with Dad for some people.”

“What people?” she asked. He was working his way down her chest. Coherent thought wouldn’t hang on much longer.

“Some studio execs. They liked it," he muttered as he kissed her breasts. "They said they might want to ask us to re-record some of the pieces for something maybe.”

“But…wait, Jon,” she said just as he licked her nipple. She sat up. “But your dad…”

“They said it’d be easy to lift his parts from the track, remix it and…he’d still be there, Sansa. I wouldn’t do it any other way.” His grey eyes looked at her tenderly for a moment. “But you are part of it too. What do you think?” he asked.

“I think I’d like to talk it over with them...but maybe.”

“Okay.”

“And I think you need to start paying Sam.”

“Okay,” he chuckled before she pulled him back down on top of her.

 

* * *

 

 

**Three years later**

 

“So, Mr. Targaryen…thanks for taking the time for his interview by the way,” the nervous, young reporter said.

She was pretty, maybe twenty-three at most. Not much younger than Sansa. It was obvious he was the first ‘celebrity’ she’d interviewed. Jon still snorted when anyone called him a celebrity though. He certainly didn’t see himself that way.

“Sure thing, um…Ellie. Call me Jon please.”

“Great. Thanks, Jon. So, the rumor is that Nights Watch might be breaking up after this tour. Is there any truth to that?”

“Well…I can’t really say for certain. Bands come and go though. All musicians have to learn to deal with that. But I’ve really enjoyed my time with Grenn, Edd and Pyp and even if we do break up after the tour, those guys will still be my buddies that I’ve enjoyed performing and writing music with for years now. We’ll just have to see.”

“Of course. And I hear that your wife recently got asked to help compose the score for a motion picture.”

“She did,” Jon beamed. He’d much rather talk about Sansa’s career than his own. “But of course, that will have to be on hold for a bit.”

“Till after the birth?”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning from ear to ear now. “We’ll have our hands full for a little while soon.”

“That’s terrific,” the young lady said.

Jon wondered if she had any idea how terrific it was though. He hoped someday she would.

The interview finished about ten minutes later and Jon headed out to the waiting car. He turned his phone back on and it immediately lit up with three text notifications and four missed calls…all from Sansa.

_Oh, shit!_

“Sweetheart…are you okay?” he breathed into the phone when she answered.

“Jon,” she groaned. “I…uh…I think it’s time, baby.”

“But it’s…uh…two weeks till…”

“Are you going to argue dates with your wife, Targaryen, or are you going to get your ass home in time for the birth of our daughter?!” Sansa snarled.

“Oh, fuck…oh, fuck… Sansa…shit.”

“Tell me about it.” She grunted and said in exasperation, “So…do I need to drive myself to the hospital?”

“No! Don’t drive! Fuck, don’t drive! I’m on my way!” he shouted into the phone, freaking the fuck out now that this was happening. “Twenty minutes! I’ll be there!”

He made it in thirteen.

Four hours later, he held his daughter in his arms as his wife laid in the bed, exhausted and absolutely radiant.

His daughter’s eyes were closed now but from what he’d seen earlier, they were blue. The top of her head was covered in inky hair, so delicate and fine. He hummed to her under his breath while Sansa tried to calm a hysterical Catelyn down over the phone who was terribly disappointed that she’d missed the birth of her first grandchild since the she’d decided to come a bit early.

“It’s okay, Mom. Jon was here…yes, he did terrific…No, he didn’t faint,” she laughed.

“It was a near thing,” he joked.

“Yeah, yeah…you and Dad are welcome to come tomorrow…and the hooligans, too.  Let them see their beautiful niece...Sure thing, Mom. We’ll see you then.”

Just as she hung up the baby’s face formed an adorable grimace and she issued a plaintive little cry.

“She sounds like she’s singing,” Jon said, an utterly besotted look on his face. “’La…la…lah.’”

“She’ll get louder, I believe. Give her here,” Sansa said opening her arms and lowering the cup of her nursing bra.

“Alright, little one. Back to Mommy.”

The maternity nurse, came back into the room. “Need any help, Mom.”

“Yes,” Sansa admitted.

The nurse efficiently tucked the baby around Sansa…and helped the baby form a latch on Sansa’s breast in a very no muss-no fuss manner.

Once the baby was sucking, the nurse left and Sansa leaned back into her pillow and looked over at him. He couldn’t stop staring at them both…and couldn’t believe how blessed he was.

“I wish he could see her,” Sansa whispered. There were tears in her eyes.

“Me, too, sweetheart. Me, too. But don’t cry now. I’m sure he’s happy for us. I know he’d be over the moon for our little Rhae.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from "Leader of the Band" by Dan Fogelberg.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading this fic. Personally, it was painful to write in places but in the most cathartic sense. I was happy to share it with you all and very humbled to hear from so many of you of how this fic had touched you in some way or another. 
> 
> And I can't believe I finished a lengthy fic! First long story I've finished since April. Yay! Thanks again for keeping me inspired by sharing your kudos and kind words :)


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